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THE DECAMERONVOLUME II



THE DECAMERONOF

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO

FAITHFULLY TRANSLATED

By J. M. RIGG

ILLUSTRATED BY LOUIS CHALON

VOLUME II

LONDONPRIVATELY PRINTED

A /



Edition de luxe.

1 060 copies printed for England and America.



<

CONTENTS.

PAGI

FIFTH DAY t

Novel I. Cimon, hy lov'tngy -waxes tv'tse, iv'ms his ii'tfe Iphigenta by

capture on the high seasy and Is Imprisoned at Rhodes. He Is

delivered by Lyslmachus ; and the t-waln capture Cassandra and

recapture Iphlgenla In the hour of their marriage. Theyjlee lulth

their ladles to CretCy and having there married themy are brought

back to their homes . . . . . .2Novel II. Gostanza loves Martucclo Gomtto, and hearing that he

is deady gives way to despair y and hies her alone aboard a boaty

ivhlch Is tvafted by the ivlnd to Susa. She finds him alive in

Tunis y and makes herself knotun to hlmy ivho, having by his counsel

gained high place In the i lng' s favour^ marries hery and returns

with her wealthy to Llparl . . . . .12Novel III. Pletro Boccamazza runs away with Agnolellay and

encounters a gang of robbers : the girl takes refuge In a -woody and

is guided to a castle. Pletro is taken, but escapes out of the hands

of the robbers y and after some adventures arrives at the castle

where Agnolella if, marries hety and returns with her to Rome 1

Novel IV. Rlcclardo Manardi is found by Messer Lizlo da Valbona

with his daughter, whom he marries, and remains at peace with

her father .

......25

Novel V. Guldotto da Cremona dies leaving a girl to Glacomino da

Pavla. She has two lovers in FaenzOy to wit, Glannole dl

Severino and Mlnghino dl Mlngolcy who fight about her. She is

discovered to be Glannole' s sister y and /'r given to Mlnghino tn

wife .... 30



vi CONTENTS.PAGE

Novel VI. Gianni di Procida,being

foundwith

adamsel that he

loves, and who had been given to King Frederic, is bound with her

to a stake, so to be burned. He is recognized by Ruggieri delV

Oria, is delivered, and marnes her . . . .36Novel VII. Teodoro, being enamoured of Violante , daughter of Mess er

jimerigo, his lord, gets her luilh child, and is sentenced to the

» gallows ; but fwhtle he is being scourged thither, he is recognized

by his father, and being set at large, takes Violante to wife . 42

Novel VIII. Nastagio degli Onesti, loving a damsel of the Traversari

family, by lavish expenditure gains not her love. At the instance

of his kinsfolk he hies him to Chiassi, 'where he sees a knight hunt

a damsel and slay her and cause her to be devoured by two dogs.

He bids his kinsfolk and the lady that he loves to breakfast. During

the meal the said damsel is torn in pieces before the eyes of the lady,

who, fearing a like fate, takes Nastagio to husband . .49Novel IX. Federigo degli Alberighi loves and is not loved in return :

he wastes his substance by lavishness until nought is left but a single

falcon, which, his lady being come to see him at his house, he gives

her to eat : she, knowing his case, changes her mind, takes him to

husband and makes him rich . . . . * 5 5

Novel X. Pietro di Vinciolo goes from home to sup : his <wife brings

a boy into the house to bear her company : Pietro returns, and she

hides her gallant under a hen-coop .• Pietro explains that in the

house of Ercolano, <with whom he fwas to have supped, there weu

disrovered a young man bestoived there by Ercolano' s wfe : the

lady thereupon censures Ercolano's -wife : but unluckily an ass

treads on the fingers of the boy that is hidden under the hen-coop,

so that he cries for pain : Pietro runs to the place, sees him, and

apprehends the trick played on him by his wife, nvhich nevertheless

he finally condones, for that be is not himself free from blame. . 61

SIXTH DAY 71

Novel I. A knight offers to carry Madonna Oretta a horseback with

a story, but tells it so ill that she prays him to dismount her . 74

Novel II. Cisti, a baker, by an apt speech gives Messer Geri Spina

to know that he has by inadvertence asked that of him which he

should not . . . . . . .76



CONTENTS. vii

FAGBNovel III. Monna Nonna de* Pulci by a ready retort tilences the

scarce seemly jesting of the Bishop of Florence . . .80Novel IV. Chichilio, cook to Currado Gian/tg/iaxzf, owes h'u safety

to a ready answer^ -whereby he converts Currado's 'wrath into

laughter^ and evades the evil fate with which Currado had threat

ened him . . . . . .82NovF-L V. Messer Forese da Rabatta and Master Giotto, the painter^

journeying together from Mugelloy deride one another 's scurvy

appearance . . . . . . . 85

Novel VI. Michele Scalza proves to Certain young men that the

Baronet are the best gentlemen in the world and the Maremma,

and <wins a supper . . . . . .87Novel VII. Madonna FiUppa^ being found by her husband with her

lover^ is cited before the court, and by a ready and jocund answer

acquits herself, and brings about an alteration of the statute . 90

Novel VIII. Fresco admonishes his niece not to look at herself in the

glass, if 'tis, as she says, grievous to her to see nasty folk . 93

Novel IX. Guido Cavalcanti by a quip meetly rebukes certain Floren-

tine gentlemen who had taken him at a disadvantage . .95Novel X. Fra Cipolla promises to she-w certain country-folk a feather

of the Angel Gabriel^ in lieu of which he finds coals, which he avers

to be of those with which St. Lawrence was roasted . .98SEVENTH DAY 112

Novel I. Gianni Lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door at night :

he a-wakens his wife, -who persuades him that 'tis the bogey, 'which

they fcdl to exorcising 'with a prayer ; 'whereupon the knocking

ceases . . . , . . 11

Novel II. Her husband returning home, Peronella besto-ws her lover

in a tun ; <which, being sold by her husband, she avers to have

been already sold by herself to one that is inside examining it to see

if it he sound. Whereupon the lover jumps out, and causes the

husband to scour the tun for him, and afterwards to carry it to his

house , . . . .119Novel III. Fra Rinaldo lies with his gossip : her husband finds him

in the room -with her ; and they make him believe that he -was

curing his godson of worms by cu charm . . .124



viu CONTENTS.PAGE

Novel IV. Tofano one night locks his nvtfe out of the house : she^

finding that by no entreaties may she prevail upon him to let her in^

feigns to throw herself into a nvell^ throwing therein a great stone.

Tofano hies him forth of the house, and runs to the spot : she goes

into the house, and locks him out, and hurls abuse at him from

ivithin . . • • • • .129

Novel V. ^jealous husband disguises himself as a priest, and hears

his own wife's confession : she tells him that she loves a pries t,

who comes to her every night. The husband posts himself at the

door to watch for the priest, and meanwhile the lady brings her

lover in by the roof, and tarries with him . • ^33

Novel VI. Madonna Isabella has with her Leonetto, her accepted

lover, when she is surprised by one Messer Lambertuccio, by whom

she is beloved : her husband coming home about the same time, she

sends Messer Lambertuccio forth of the house drawn sword in

hand, and the husband afterwards escorts Leonetto home . 141

Novel VII. Lodovico discovers to Madonna Beatrice the love that

be bears her : she sends Egano, her husband, into a garden dis-

guised as herself, and lies with Lodovico ; who thereafter, being

risen, hies him to the garden and cudgels Egano . . • HS

Novel VIII. A husband grows jealous of his wife, and discovers

that she has warning of her lover's approach by a piece of pack-

thread, which she ties to her great toe a nights. While he is

pursuing her lover, she puts another woman in bed in her place.

The husband, finding her there, beats her, and cuts off her hair.

He then goes and calls his wife's brothers, who, holding his

accusation to be false, give him a rating . . .151

Novel IX. Lydia, wife of Nicostratus, loves Pyrrhus, who to assure

himself thereof, asks three things of her, all of which she does,

and therewithal enjoys him in presence of Nicostratus, and makes

Nicostratus believe that what he saw was not real ., . 1 59

Novel X. Two Sienese love a lady, one of them being her gossip :

the gossip dies, having promised his comrade to return to him from

the other world ; which he does, and tells him what sort of life is

led there . . . . . . .169



CONTENTS. ix

FAOB

EIGHTH DAY

.....176

Novel I. Gulfardo horroius moneys of Guasparruolo, which he has

agreed to give Guasfarruolo's ivi/e, that he may lie iviih her. Hegives them to her^ and in her presence tells Guasparruolo that he

has done so^ and she acknowledges that 'tis true . . .177

Novel II. The priest of Varlungo lies with Monna Belcolore : he

leaves ivitb her his cloak by ivay of pledge^ and receives from her

a mortar. He returns the mortar^ and demands of her the cloak

that he had left in pledge^ ivhich the good lady returns him with a

gibe . . . . . . .180

Novel III. Calandrinoy Bruno and Bujalmacco go in quest of the

heliotrope beside the Mugnone. Thinking to have found it^

Calandrino gets him home laden with stones. His •wife chides

him : whereat he waxes wroth, bea ts her, and tells his comrades

what they know better than he . . . .186

Novel IV. The rector of Fiesole loves a ivido'w lady, by whom he is

not loved , and thinking to lie ivith her, lies <with her maid, with

whom the lady's brothers cause him to be found by his Bishop . 194

Novel V. Three young men pull down the breeches of a judge fromthe Marches, while he is administering justice on the bench .

199

Novel VI. Bruno and Bujfalmacco steal a pig from Calandrino, and

induce him to essay its recovery by means of pills of ginger and

vernaccia. Of the said pills they give him two, one after the other,

made of dog-ginger compounded with aloes; and it then appearing

eu if he had had the pig himself, they constrain him to buy them off ,

if he would not have them tell his wife . .203

Novel VII. A scholar loves a widotu lady, who, being enamoured

of another, causes him to spend a winter s night awaiting her in

the snow. He after'wards by a stratagem causes her to stand for

a 'whole day in July, naked upon a tower, exposed to the flies, the

gadflies, and the sun

,

. . . . .209

Novel VIII. Two men keep with one another : the one lies with the

other's 'wife : the other, being 'ware thereof, manages 'with the aid

of his 'wife to have the one locked in a chest, upon which he then

lies with the wife of him that is locked therein . . .230



X CONTENTS.PAGE

Novel IX. Bruno and Buffalmacco prevail upon Master Simone^ a

physician^ to betake him by night to a certain place^ there to be

enrolled in a company that go the course. Buffalmacco thronus him.

into a foul ditchf and there they leave him . . • *35

Novel X. ^ Sicilian 'woman cunningly conveys from a merchant that

nvhich he has brought to Palermo ; he, making a shew of being

come bach thither luith far greater store of goods than before^

borrows money of her^ and leaves her in lieu thereof ivater and

tow , • • . • • .250

NINTH DAY . . . . . . .263

Novel I. Madonna Francesca, having two lovers, the one Rinuccio,

the other Alessandro, by name, and loving neither of them, induces

the one to simulate a corpse in a tomb, and the other to enter the

tomb to fetch him out : fwhereby, neither satisfying her demands,

she artfully rids herself of both . . . . 265

Novel II. An abbess rises in haste and in the dark, with intent to

surprise an accused nun abed luith her lover : thinking to put on

her veil, she puts on instead the breeches of a priest that she has

with her : the nun, espying her headgear, and doing her to wit

thereof, is acquitted, and thenceforth finds it easier to forgather with

her lover . . . . . . .271

Novel III. Master Simone, at the instance of Bruno and Buffalmacco

and Nello, makes Calandrino believe that he is with child. Calan-

drino, accordingly^ gives them capons and money for medicines, and

is cured 'without being delivered . . . .274

Novel IV. Cecco, son of Messer Fortarrigo, loses his all at play at

Buonconvento, besides the money of Cecco, son of Messer Angiu-

lieri ; whom, running after him in his shirt and crying out that he

has robbed him, he causes to be takeA by peasants : he then puts on

his clothes, mounts his palfrey, and leaves him to follow in his

shirt

.......278

Novel V. Calandrino being enamoured of a damsel, Bruno gives him

a scroll, averring that, if he but touch her therewith, she will go

with him •• ie is found with her by his wife, who subjects him to

a most severe and vexatious examination • . .282



CONTENTS. xi

rAOBNovel VI. Two young men lodge at an inn, of tvhom the one Ret with

the host's daughter, his luife by inadvertence lying with the other. ^^He that l ay lui th the daughter after-wards gets into her father x

bed and tells him all, taking him to be his comrade. They bandy

words : •whereupon the good woman, apprehending the circum-

stances, gets her to bed with her daughter, and by divers apt

words re-establishes perfect accord . . . .290

Novel VII. Talano di Molese dreams that a wolf tears and rends

all the neck and face of his ivife : he gives her warning thereof,

which she heeds not, and the dream comes true . . .295

Novel VIII. Blondello gulls Ciacco in the matter of a breakfast : for

•which prank Ciacco is cunningly avenged on Biondello, causing him

to be shamefully beaten ..... 298

Novel IX. Two young men ask counsel of Solomon ; the one, ho'w he

is to make himself beloved, the other, how he is to reduce an unruly

wife to order. The King bids the one to love, and the other to go

to the Bridge of Geese ..... 30a

Novel X. Dom Gianni at the instance of his gossip Pietro uses an

enchantment to transform Pietro' s wife into a mare ; but, whenhe comes to attach the tail. Gossip Pietro, by saying that he 'will

have noneof

the tail, makes the enchantmentof

no effect .

-SO?TENTH DAY . 313

Novel I. ji knight in the service of the King of Spain deems himself

ill requited. Wherefore the King, by most cogent proof, shews him

that the blame rests not with him, but with the knight's own evil

fortune ; after •which, he bestozvs upon him a noble gift . .314

Novel II. Ghino di Tacco captures the Abbot of Cluny, cures him of

a disorder of the stomach, and releases him. The abbot, on his

return to the court of Rome, reconciles Ghino •with Pope Boniface,

and makes him prior of the Hospital . . . -317Novel III. Mitridanes, holding Nathan in despite by recuon of bis

courtesy, journey •with intent to kill him, and falling in with him

una'wares, is advised by him how to compass his end. Following

his advice, he finds him in a copse, and recognizing him, is shame-

ttricken, and becomes his friend . . . .322



xii CONTENTS.PACK

NovelIV.

MessefGentile de' Carisenc/i, being come

fromModena,

disinters a lady that he lovesy 'who has been buried for dead. She,

being reanimated^ gives birth to a male child ; and Messer Gentile

restores her^ with her son, to Niccoluccio Caccianimico, her husband 328

Novel V. Madonna Dianora craves of Messer Ansaldo a garden

tha t sha ll be as fair in January as in May. Messer Ansaldo' binds himself to a necromancer, and thereby gives her the garden.

Her husband gives her leave to do Messer Ansaldo^ s pleasure : he,

being apprised of her husband's liberality, releases her from her

promise ; and the necromancer releases Messer Ansaldo from his

bond, and <will take nought of his . , . . '335

Novel VI. King Charles the Old, being conqueror, falls in love with

a young maiden, and afternvard gronuing ashamed of his folly

bestows her and her sister honourably in marriage . 34O

Novel VII. J^ing Pedro, being apprised of the fervent love borne him

by Lisa, nuho thereof is sick, comforts her, and forthwith gives

her in marriage to a young gentleman, and having kissed her on the

bro'w, ever after professes himself her knight . , .346

Novel VIII. Sophronia, albeit she deems herself luife to Gisippus, is

ivife to Titus Quintius Fulvus, and goes ivith him to Rome, ivhere

Gisippus arrives in indigence, and deeming himself scorned by

Titus, to compass his oiun death, avers that he has slain a man.

Titus recognizes him, and to save his life, alleges that 'twas he

that slew the man : ivhereqfhe that did the deed being witness, he

discovers himself as the murderer. Whereby it comes to pass that

they are all three liberated by Octavianus ; and Titus gives Gisippus

his sister to 'wife, and shares with him all his substance . -353

Novel IX. Saladin, in guise of a merchant, is honourably entreated

by Messer Torello. The Crusade ensuing, Messer Torello appoints

a date, after fwhich his 'wife may marry again : he is taken

prisoner, and by training ha'wks comes under the Soldans notice.

The Soldan recognizes him, makes himself known to him, and

entreats him 'with all honour. Messer Torello falls sick, and by

magic arts is transported in a single night to Pavia, -where his

wife's second marriage is then to be solemnized, and being present

thereat, is recognized by her, and returns with her to his house . 3 70



CONTENTS. xn

PAOI

Novel X. The Marquis of Saluzxo^ overborne by the entreaties of

his vassals, consents to take a wife, but, being minded to please

himself in the choice of her, takes a husbandman s daughter. Hehas t<wo children by her, both of whom he makes her believe that

he has put to death. Afterward, feigning to be tired of her, and

to have taken another wife, he turns her out of doors in her shifty

and brings his daughter into the house in guise of his bride ; but,

Jinding her patient under it all, he brings her home again, and shews

her her children, now grown up, and honours her, and causes her

to be honoured, as Marchioness . . . • $^7



y 1-^y

ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. IL

FIFTH DAY, THIRD STORY. THE FUGITIVES

FIFTH DAY, SIXTH STORY. RESTITUTA

NINTH DAY, FIFTH STORY. THE FOOLISH LOVER

TENTH DAY, SIXTH STORY. GINEVRA AND ISOTTA

TENTH DAY, EIGHTH STORY. TITUS AND GISIPPUS

TENTH DAY, TENTH STORY. —GRISELDA

To faei page

i8

38

286

342

354

390



Endet/i here the fourth day of the 'Decameron^ b^ginneth

the fifths in which under the rule of Fiammetta dis-

course is had of good fortune befalling lovers after

divers direful or disastrous adventures.

All the east was white, nor any part of our hemisphere unil-

lumined by the rising beams, when the carolling of the birds that in

gay chorus saluted the dawn among the boughs induced Fiammetta

to rise and rouse the other ladies and the three gallants ; with whomadown the hill and about the dewy meads of the broad champaign

she sauntered, talking gaily of divers matters, until the sun had

attained some height. Then, feeling his rays grow somewhat

scorching, they retraced their steps, and returned to the villa ; where,

having repaired their slight fatigue with excellent wines and comfits,

they took their pastime in the pleasant garden until the breakfast

hour ; when, all things being made ready by the discreet seneschal,

they, after singing a stampita,^ and a balladette or two, gaily, at the

queen's behest, sat them down to eat. Meetly ordered and gladsome

was the meal, which done, heedful of their rule of dancing, they

trod a few short measures with accompaniment of music and song.

Thereupon, being all dismissed by the queen until after the siesta,

some hied them to rest, while others tarried taking their pleasure in

the fair garden. But shortly after none, all, at the queen's behest,

reassembled, according to their wont, by the fountain ; and the

queen, having seated herself on her throne, glanced towards Pamfilo,

and bade him with a smile lead off with the stories of good fortune.

Whereto Pamfilo gladly addressed himself, and thus began.

1 A song accompanied by music, but without dancing.

VOL. II. B



NOVEL I.

Cimon^ by loving, waxes wise^ wins his wife Iphigenia by

capture on the high seas, and is imprisoned at Rhodes.

He is delivered by JLysimachus ; and the twain capture

Cassandra and recapture Iphigenia in the hour of their

marriage. They flee with their ladies to Crete, and

having there married them^ are brought back to their

homes.

Many stories, sweet my ladies, occur to me as meet for me to

tell by way of ushering in a day so joyous as this will be : of which

one does most commend itself to my mind, because not only has it

one of those happy endings of which to-day we are in quest, but

'twill enable you to understand how holy, how mighty and howsalutary are the forces of Love, which not a few, witting not what

they say, do most unjustly reprobate and revile : which, if I err not,

should to you, for that I take you to be enamoured, be indeed

welcome.

Once upon a time, then, as we have read in the ancient histories

of the Cypriotes, there was in the island of Cyprus a very great

noble named Aristippus, a man rich in all worldly goods beyond all

other of his countrymen, and who might have deemed himself

incomparably blessed, but for a single sore affliction that Fortune hadallotted him. Which was that among his sons he had one, the best

grown and handsomest of them all, that was well-nigh a hopeless

imbecile. His true name was Galesus j but, as neither his tutor's

pains, nor his father's coaxing or chastisement, nor any other method

had availed to imbue him with any tincture of letters or manners,

2



FIRST STORY.] DECAMERON. 3

but he still remained gruff and savage of voice, and in his bearing

liker to a beast than to a man, all, as in derision, were wont to call

him Cimon, which in their language signifies the same as bestione**

(brute) ^ in ours. The father, grieved beyond measure to see his

son's life thus blighted, and having abandoned all hope of his recovery,

nor caring to have the cause of his mortification ever before his

eyes, bade him betake him to the farm, and there keep with his

husbandmen. To Cimon the change was very welcome, because

the manners and habits of the uncouth hinds were more to his taste

than those of the citizens. So to the farm Cimon hied him, and

addressed himself to the work thereof ; and being thus employed, he

chanced one afternoon as he passed, staff on shoulder, from onedomain to another, to enter a plantation, the like of which for beauty

there was not in those parts, and which was then —for 'twas the

month of May —a mass of greenery ; and, as he traversed it, he

came, as Fortune was pleased to guide him, to a meadow girt in with

trees exceeding tall, and having in one of its corners a fountain most

fair and cool, beside which he espied a most beautiful girl lying

asleep on the green grass, clad only in a vest of such fine stuff that it

scarce in any measure veiled the whiteness of her flesh, and below the

waist nought but an apron most white and fine of texture ; and

likewise at her feet there slepttwo women and a man, her

slaves.

No sooner did Cimon catch sight of her, than, as if he had never

before seen form of woman, he stopped short, and leaning on his

cudgel, regarded her intently, saying never a word, and lost in admir-

ation. And in his rude soul, which, despite a thousand lessons, had

hitherto remained impervious to every delight that belongs to urbane

life, he felt the awakening of an idea, that bade his gross and coarse

mind acknowledge, that this girl was the fairest creature that had ever

been seen by mortal eye. And thereupon he began to distinguish

her several parts, praising her hair, which shewed to him as gold, her

brow, her nose and mouth, her throat and arms, and above all her

bosom, which was as yet but in bud, and as he gazed, he changed

of a sudden from a husbandman into a judge of beauty, and desired

of all things to see her eyes, which the weight of her deep slumber

kept close shut, and many a time he would fein have awakened

^ One of the augmentative forms of bestia.



4 DECAMERON. [fifth day.

her, that he might see them. But so much fairer seemed she to

him than any other woman that he had seen, that he doubted

she must be a goddess ; and as he was not so devoid of sense but

that he deemed things divine more worthy of reverence than things

mundane, he forbore, and waited until she should awalce of her

own accord j and though he found the delay overlong, yet,

enthralled by so unwonted a delight, he knew not how to be

going. However, after he had tarried a long while, it so befell

that Iphigenia —such was the girl's name —her slaves still sleep-

ing, awoke, and raised her head, and opened her eyes, and seeing

Cimon standing before her, leaning on his staff, was not a little

surprised, and said:—

Cimon, what seekest thou in this wood atthis hour ? For Cimon she knew well, as indeed did almost all the

country-side, by reason alike of his uncouth appearance as of the rank

and wealth of his father. To Iphigenia's question he answered never

a word ; but as soon as her eyes were open, nought could he do but

intently regard them, for it seemed to him that a soft influence

emanated from them, which filled his soul with a delight that he had

never before known. Which the girl marking began to misdoubt

that by so fixed a scrutiny his boorish temper might be prompted to

some act that should cause her dishonour : wherefore she roused her

women, and got up, saying : — Keep thy distance, Cimon, in God's

name. Whereto Cimon made answer : — I will come with thee.

And, albeit the girl refused his escort, being still in fear of him, she

could not get quit of him ; but he attended her home j after which

he hied him straight to his father's house, and announced that he wasminded on no account to go back to the farm : which intelligence wasfar from welcome to his father and kinsmen ; but nevertheless they

suffered him to stay, and waited to see what might be the reason of

his change of mind. So Cimon, whose heart, closed to all teaching,

love's shaft, sped by the beauty of Iphigenia, had penetrated, did nowgraduate in wisdom with such celerity as to astonish his father and

kinsmen, and all that knew him. He began by requesting his father

to let him go clad in the like apparel, and with, in all respects, the

like personal equipment as his brothers : which his father very gladly

did. Mixing thus with the gallants, and becoming familiar with the

manners proper to gentlemen, and especially to lovers, he very soon,

to the exceeding great wonder of all, not only acquired the rudiments



FIRST STORY.J DECAMERON. 5

of letters, but waxed most eminent among the philosophic wits.

After which (for no other cause than the love he bore to Iphigenia)

he not only modulated his grufF and boorish voice to a degree of

smoothness suitable to urbane life, but made himself accomplished in

singing and music ; in riding also and in all matters belonging to

war, as well by sea as by land, he waxed most expert and hardy. Andin sum (that I go not about to enumerate each of his virtues in

detail) he had not completed the fourth year from the day of his

first becoming enamoured before he was grown the most gallant, and

courteous, ay, and the most perfect in particular accomplishments, of

the young cavaliers that were in the island of Cyprus. What then,

gracious ladies, are we to say of Cimon ? Verily nought else butthat the high faculties, with which Heaven had endowed his noble

soul, invidious Fortune had bound with the strongest of cords, and

circumscribed within a very narrow region of his heart ; all which

cords Love, more potent than Fortune, burst and brake in pieces j

and then with the might, wherewith he awakens dormant powers, he

brought them forth of the cruel obfuscation, in which they lay, into

clear light, plainly shewing thereby, whence he may draw, and

whither he may guide, by his beams the souls that are subject to

his sway.

Now, albeit by his love for Iphigenia Cimon was betrayed, as

young lovers very frequently are, into some peccadillos, yet Aristip-

pus, reflecting that it had turned him from a booby into a man, not

only bore patiently with him, but exhorted him with all his heart to

continue steadfast in his love. And Cimon, who still refused to be

called Galesus, because 'twas as Cimon that Iphigenia had first

addressed him, being desirous to accomplish his desire by honourable

means, did many a time urge his sui t upon her father, Cipseus, that

he would give her him to wife : whereto Cipseus always made the

same answer, to wit, that he had promised her to Pasimondas, a

young Rhodian noble, and was not minded to break faith with him.

However, the time appointed for Iphigenia's wedding being come,

and the bridegroom having sent for her, Cimon said to himself :

'Tis now for me to shew thee, O Iphigenia, how great is my love

for thee : 'tis by thee that I am grown a man, nor doubt I, if I

shall have thee, that I shall wax more glorious than a god, and verily

thee will I have, or die. Having so said, he privily enlisted in his




cause certain young nobles that were his friends, and secretly fitted

out a ship with all equipment meet for combat, and put to sea on thelook-out for the ship that was to bear Iphigenia to Rhodes and her

husband. And at length, when her father had done lavishing

honours upon her husband's friends, Iphigenia embarked, and, the

mariners shaping their course for Rhodes, put to sea. Cimon was on

the alert, and overhauled them the very next day, and standing on

his ship's prow shouted amain to those that were aboard Iphigenia's

ship :— Bring to j strike sails, or look to be conquered and sunk in

the sea. Then, seeing that the enemy had gotten their arms above

deck, and were making ready to make a fight of it, he followed up his

words by casting a grapnel upon the poop of the Rhodians, who were

making great way ; and having thus made their poop fast to his prow,

he sprang, fierce as a lion, reckless whether he were followed or no,

on to the Rhodians' ship, making, as it were, no account of them,

and animated by love, hurled himself, sword in hand, with prodigious

force among the enemy, and cutting and thrusting right and left,

slaughtered them like sheep ; insomuch that the Rhodians, marking

tlie fury of his onset, threw down their arms, and as with one voice

did all acknowledge themselves his prisoners. To whom Cimon :

Gallants, quoth he, ' twas neither lust of booty nor enmity to

you that caused me to put out from Cyprus to attack you here with

force of arms on the high seas. Moved was I thereto by that which

to gain is to me a matter great indeed, which peaceably to yield meis to you but a slight matter ; for 'tis even Iphigenia, whom more

than aught else I love ; whom, as I might not have her of her father

in peaceable and friendly sort. Love has constrained me to take from

you in this high-handed fashion and by force of arms ; to whom I

mean to be even such as would have been your Pasimondas : where-

fore give her to me, and go your way, and God's grace go with

you.

Yielding rather to force than prompted by generosity, the Rhodians

surrendered Iphigenia, all tears, to Cimon j who, marking her tears,

said to her : — Grieve not, noble lady ; thy Cimon am I, who, by mylong love, have established a far better right to thee than Pasimondas

by the faith that was plighted to him. So saying, he sent her aboard

his ship, whither he followed her, touching naught that belonged to

the Rhodians, and suffering them to go their way. To have gotten



FIRST 5T0RY.] DECAMERON. 7

so dear a prize made him the happiest man in the world, but for a

time 'twas all he could do to assuage her grief; then, after talcing

counsel with his comrades, he deemed it best not to return, to Cyprus

for the present : and so, by common consent they shaped their course

for Crete, where most of them, and especially Cimon, had alliances

of old or recent date, and friends not a few, whereby they deemed

that there they might tarry with Iphigenia in security. But Fortune,

that had accorded Cimon so gladsome a capture of the l^y, suddenly

proved fickle, and converted the boundless joy of the enamoured

gallant into woeful and bitter lamentation. 'Twas not yet full four

hours since Cimon had parted from the Rhodians, when with the

approach of night, that night from which Cimon hoped such joyanceas he had never known, came weather most turbulent and tempestuous,

which wrapped the heavens in cloud, and swept the sea with scathing

blasts ; whereby 'twas not possible for any to see how the ship was

to be worked or steered, or to steady himself so as to do any duty upon

her deck. Whereat what grief was Cimon's, it boots not to ask.

Indeed it seemed to him that the gods had granted his heart's desire

only that it might be harder for him to die, which had else been to

him but a light matter. Not less downcast were his comrades ; but

most of all Iphigenia, who, weeping bitterly and shuddering at every

wave that struck the ship, did cruelly curse Cimon's love and censure

his rashness, averring that this tempest was come upon them for no

other cause than that the gods had decreed, that, as 'twas in despite

of their will that he purposed to espouse her, he should be frustrate of

his presumptuous intent, and having lived to see her expire, should

then himself meet a woeful death.

While thus and yet more bitterly they bewailed them, and the

mariners were at their wits' end, as the gale grew hourly more violent,

nor knew they, nor might conjecture, whither they went, they drew

nigh the island of Rhodes, albeit that Rhodes it was they wist not,

and set themselves, as best and most skilfully they might, to run the

ship aground. In which enterprise Fortune favoured them, bringing

them into a little bay, where, shortly before them, was arrived the

Rhodian ship that Cimon had let go. Nor were they sooner ware

that 'twas Rhodes they had made, than day broke, and, the sky thus

brightening a little, they saw that they were about a bow-shot from

the ship that they had released on the preceding day. Whereupon




Cimon, vexed beyond measure, being apprehensive of that which in

fact befell them, bade make every effort to win out of the bay, and

let Fortune carry them whither she would, for nowhere might they be

in worse plight than there. So might and main they strove to bring

the ship out, but all in vain : the violence of the gale thwarted them

to such purpose as not only to preclude their passage out of the bay but

to drive them, willing nilling, ashore. Whither no sooner were they

come, than they were recognized by the Rhodian mariners, who were

already landed. Of whom one ran with all speed to a farm hard by,

whither the Rhodian gallants were gone, and told them that Fortune

had brought Cimon and Iphigenia aboard their ship into the same

bay to which she had guided them. Whereat the gallants were over-joyed, and taking with them not a few of the farm-servants, hied

them in hot haste to the shore, where, Cimon and his men being

already landed with intent to take refuge in a neighbouring wood,

they took them all (with Iphigenia) and brought them to the farm.

Whence, pursuant to an order of the Senate of Rhodes, to which, so

soon as he received the news, Pasimondas made his complaint, Cimonand his men were all marched ofF to prison by Lysimachus, chief

magistrate of the Rhodians for that year, who came down from the

city for the purpose with an exceeding great company of men at

arms. On such wise did our hapless and enamoured Cimon lose his

so lately won Iphigenia before he had had of her more than a kiss

or two. Iphigenia was entertained and comforted of the annoy,

occasioned as well by her recent capture as by the fury of the sea, by

not a few noble ladies of Rhodes, with whom she tarried until the

day appointed for her marriage. In recompense of the release of the

Rhodian gallants on the preceding day the lives of Cimon and his

men were spared, notwithstanding that Pasimondas pressed might

and main for their execution ; and instead they were condemned to

perpetual imprisonment : wherein, as may be supposed, they abode in

dolorous plight, and despaired of ever again knowing happiness.

However, it so befell that, Pasimondas accelerating his nuptials to

the best of his power, Fortune, as if repenting her that in her haste

she had done Cimon so evil a tu rn, did now by a fresh disposition of

events compass his deliverance. Pasimondas had a brother, by nameHormisdas, his equal in all respects save in years, who had long

been contract to marry Cassandra, a fair and noble damsel of




Rhodes, of whom Lyslmachus was in the last degree enamoured ;

but owing to divers accidents the marriage had been from time to

time put off. Now Pasimondas, being about to celebrate his nuptials

with exceeding great pomp, bethought him that he could not do

better than, to avoid a repetition of the pomp and expense, arrange, if

so he might, that his brother should be wedded on the same day

with himself. So, having consulted anew with Cassandra's kinsfolk,

and come to an understanding with them, he and his brother and

they conferred together, and agreed that on the same day that

Pasimondas married Iphigenia, Hormisdas should marry Cassandra.

Lysimach us, getting wind of this arrangement, was mortified beyond

measure, seeing himself thereby deprived of the hope which he cher-ished of marrying Cassandra himself, if Hormisdas should not forestall

him. But like a wise man he concealed his chagrin, and cast about

how he might frustrate the arrangement : to which end he saw no

other possible means but to carry Cassandra off. It did not escape

him that the office which he held would render this easily feasible,

but he deemed it all the more dishonourable than if he had not held

the office ; but, in short, after much pondering, honour yielded place

to love, and he made up his mind that, come what might, he would

carry Cassandra off. Then, as he took thought what company he

should take with him, and how he should go about the affair, he

remembered Cimon, whom he had in prison with his men, and it

occurred to him that he could not possibly have a better or more trusty

associate in such an enterprise than Cimon. Wherefore the same night

he caused Cimon to be brought privillr to him in his own room, and

thus addressed him : — Cimon, as tJje gods are most generous- and

liberal to bestow their gifts on men, so are they also most sagacious

to try their virtue ; and those whom they find to be firm and stead-

fast in all circumstances they honour, as the most worthy, with the

highest rewards. They have been minded to be certified of thy

worth by better proofs than thou couldst afford them, as long as thy

life was bounded by thy father's house amid the superabundant wealth

which I know him to possess : wherefore in the first place they so

wrought upon thee with the shrewd incitements of Love that from an

insensate brute, as I have heard, thou grewest to be a man ; since

when, it has been and is their intent to try whether evil fortune and

harsh imprisonment may avail to change thee from the temper that



10 . DECAMERON. [fifth day.

was thine when for a short while thou hadst joyance of the prize

thou hadst won. And so thou prove the same that thou wast then,

they have in store for thee a boon incomparably greater than aught

that they vouchsafed thee before : what that boon is, to the end thou

mayst recover heart and thy wonted energies, I will now explain to

thee. Pasimondas, exultant in thy misfortune and eager to compass thy

death, hastens to the best of his power his nuptials with thy Iphigenia ;

that so he may enjoy the prize that Fortune, erstwhile smiling, gave

thee, and forthwith, frowning, reft from thee. Whereat how sore

must be thy grief, if rightly I gauge thy love, I know by my owncase, seeing that his brother Hormisdas addresses himself to do me on

thesame

day a like wrong in regard of Cassandra, whom I love more

than aught else in the world. Nor see I that Fortune has left us

any way of escape from this her unjust and cruel spite, save what wemay make for ourselves by a resolved spirit and the might of our

right hands : take we then the sword, and therewith make we, each,

prize of his lady, thou for the second, I for the first time : for so thou

value the recovery, I say not of thy liberty, for without thy lady I doubt

thou wouldst hold it cheap, but of thy lady, the gods have placed it in

thine own hands, if thou art but minded to join me in my enterprise.

These words restored to Cimon all that he had lost of heart and

hope, nor pondered he long, before he replied :— Lysimachus, com-

rade stouter or more staunch than I thou mightst not have in such

an enterprise, if such indeed it be as thou sayst : wherefore lay upon

me such behest as thou shalt deem meet, and thou shalt marvel to

witness the vigour of my performance. Whereupon Lysimachus :

On the third day from now, quoth he, their husbands' houses

will be newly entered by the brides, and on the same day at even wetoo will enter them in arms, thou with thy men, and I with some of

mine, in whom I place great trust, and forcing our way among the

guests and slaughtering all that dare to oppose us, will bear the ladies

off to a ship which I have had privily got ready. Cimon approved

the plan, and kept quiet in prison until the appointed time ; whichbeing come, the nuptials were celebrated with great pomp and

magnificence, that filled the houses of the two brothers with festal

cheer. Then Lysimachus having made ready all things meet, and fired

Cimon and his men and his own friends for the enterprise by a long

harangue, disposed them in due time, all bearing arms under their



FIRST STORY.] ^DECAMERON. ii

cloaks, in three companies; and having privily despatched one company

to the port, that, when the time should come to embark, he mightmeet with no let, he marched with the other two companies to the

house of Pasimondas, posted the one company at the gate, that, being

entered, they might not be shut in or debarred their egress, and, with

the other company and Cimon, ascended the stairs, and gained the

saloon, where the brides and not a few other ladies were set at several

tables to sup in meet order : whereupon in they rushed, and over-

threw the tables and seized each his own lady, and placed them in

charge of their men, whom they bade bear them off forthwith to the

ship that lay ready to receive them. Whereupon the brides and the

other ladies and the servants with one accord fell a sobbing and

shrieking, insomuch that a confused din and lamentation filled the

whole place. Cimon, Lysimachus and their band, none withstanding,

but all giving way before them, gained the stairs, which they were

already descending when they encountered Pasimondas, who, carrying

a great staff in his hand, was making in the direction of the noise ;

but one doughty stroke of Cimon's sword sufficed to cleave his skull

in twain, and lay him dead at Cimon's feet, and another stroke

disposed of hapless Hormisdas, as he came running to his brother's

aid. Some others who ventured to approach them were woundedand beaten off by the retinue. So forth of the house, that reeked

with blood and resounded wi^h tumult and lamentation and woe,

sped Simon and Lysimachus with all their company, and without anylet, in close order, with their fair booty in their midst, made good

their retreat to the ship j whereon with the ladies they one and all

embarked, for the shore was now full of armed men come to rescue

the ladies, and, the oarsmen giving way, put to sea elate. Arrived at

Crete, they met with a hearty welcome on the part of their manyfriends and kinsfolk ; and, having married their ladies, they madegreatly merry, and had gladsome joyance of their fair booty. Their

doings occasioned, both in Cyprus and in Rhodes, no small stir and

commotion, which lasted for a long while : but in the end, by the

good offices of their friends and kinsfolk in both islands, 'twas so

ordered as that after a certain term of exile Cimon returned with

Iphigenia to Cyprus, and in like manner Lysimachus returned with

Cassandra to Rhodes ; and long and blithely thereafter lived they,

each well contented with his own wife in his own land.



NOVEL 11.

Gostanza loves Martuccio Gomito, and hearing that he is

dead, gives way to despair, and hies her alone aboard

a hoat^ which is wafted by the wind to Susa. She

finds him alive in Tunis, and makes herself known to

him, who, having by his counsel gained high place in

the kings favour, marries her, and returns with her

wealthy to Lipari.

Pamfilo's story being ended, the queen, after commending it not

a little, called for one to follow from Emilia j who thus began :

Meet and right it is that one should rejoice when events so fall

out that passion meets with its due reward : and as love merits in

the long run rather joy than suffering, far gladlier obey I the queen's

than I did the king's behest, and address myself to our present theme.

You are to know then, dainty ladies, that not far from Sicily there is

an islet called Lipari, in which, no great while ago, there dwelt a

damsel, Gostanza by name, fair as fair could be, and of one of the

most honourable families in the island. And one Martuccio Gomito,

who was also of the island, a young man most gallant and courteous,

and worthy for his condition, became enamoured of Gostanza ; whoin like manner grew so afire for him that she was ever ill at ease,

except she saw him. Martuccio, craving her to wife, asked her of

her father, who made answer that, Martuccio being poor, he was not

minded to give her to him. Mortified to be thus rejected by reason

of poverty, Martuccio took an oath in presence of some of his friends

and kinsfolk that Lipari should know him no more, until he was

wealthy. So away he sailed, and took to scouring the seas as a rover

on the coast of Barbary, preying upon all whose force matched not



SECOND STORY.] DECAMERON. 13

his own. In which way of life he found Fortune favourable enough,

had he but known how to rest and be thankful : but 'twas notenough that he and his comrades in no long time waxed very

wealthy ; their covetousness was inordinate, and, while they sought

to gratify it, they chanced in an encounter with certain Saracen ships

to be taken after a long defence, and despoiled, and, most part of

them, thrown into the sea by their captors, who, after sinking his

ship, took Martuccio with them to Tunis, and clapped him in prison,

and there kept him a long time in a very sad plight.

Meanwhile, not by one or two, but by divers and not a few

persons, tidings reached Lipari that all that were with Martuccio

aboard his bark had perished in the sea.

Thedamsel,

whosegrief

onMartuccio's departure had known no bounds, now hearing that he was

dead with the rest, wept a great while, and made up her mind to

have done with life ; but, lacking the resolution to lay violent hands

upon herself, she bethought her how she might devote herself to

death by some novel expedient. So one night she stole out of her

father's house, and hied her to the port, and there by chance she

found, lying a little apart from the other craft, a fishing boat, which,

as the owners had but just quitted her, was still equipped with mast

and sails and oars. Aboard which boat she forthwith got, and being,

like most of the women of the island, not altogether without nautical

skill, she rowed some distance out to sea, and then hoisted sail, and

cast away oars and tiller, and let the boat drift, deeming that a boat

without lading or steersman would certainly be either capsized by

the wind or dashed against some rock and broken in pieces, so that

escape she could not, even if she would, but must perforce drown.

And so, her head wrapped in a mantle, she stretched herself weeping

on the floor of the boat. But it fell out quite otherwise than she

had conjectured : for, the wind being from the north, and very

equable, with next to no sea, the boat kept an even keel, and next

day about vespers bore her to land hard by a city called Susa, full a

hundred miles beyond Tunis. To the damsel 'twas all one whether

she were at sea or ashore, for, since she had been aboard, she had

never once raised, nor, come what might, meant she ever to raise,

her head.

Now it so chanced, that, when the boat grounded, there was on

the shore a poor woman that was in the employ of some fishermen,




until such time as God may send thee better fortune ; and as she

said, so she did.

The old lady listened, and then, gazing steadfastly in the damsel's

face, shed tears, and taking her hand, kissed her forehead, and led her

into the house, where she and some other women dwelt quite by

themselves, doing divers kinds of handiwork in silk and palm leaves

and leather. Wherein the damsel in a few days acquired some skill,

and thenceforth wrought together with them ; and rose wondrous

high in the favour and good graces of all the ladies, who soon taught

her their language.

Now while the damsel, mourned at home as lost and dead, dwelt

thus at Susa, it so befell that, Mariabdela being then King of Tunis,

a young chieftain in Granada, of great power, and backed by mighty

allies, gave out that the realm of Tunis belonged 'to him, and having

gathered a vast army, made a descent upon Tunis with intent to

expel the King from the realm, Martuccio Gomito, who knew the

language of Barbary well, heard the tidings in prison, and learning

that the King of Tunis was mustering a mighty host for the defence

of his kingdom, said to one of the warders that were in charge of

him and his comrades :— If I might have speech of the King, I am

confident that the advice that I should give him would secure himthe victory. The warder repeated these words to his chief, whoforthwith carried them to the King. Wherefore by the King's com-

mand Martuccio was brought before him, and being asked by him

what the advice, of which he had spoken, might be, answered on

this wise :— Sire, if in old days, when I was wont to visit this

country of yours, I duly observed the manner in which you order

your battle, methinks you place your main reliance upon archers ;

and therefore, if you could contrive that your enemy's supply of

arrows should give out and your own continue plentiful, I apprehend

that you would win the battle. Ay indeed, replied the King, Imake no doubt that, could I but accomplish that, I should conquer.

Nay but, Sire, returned Martuccio, you may do it, if you will.

Listen, and I will tell you how. You must fit the bows of your

archers with strings much finer than those that are in common use,

and match them with arrows, the notches of which will not admit

any but these fine strings ; and this you must do so secret ly that

your enemy may not know it, else he will find means to be even



i6 DECAMERON. [fifth day.

with you. Which counsel I give you for the following reason :

When your and your enemy's archers have expended all their arrows,you wot that the enemy will fall to picking up the arrows that your

men have shot during the battle, and your men will do the like by

the enemy's arrows ; but the enemy will not be able to make use of

your men's arrows, by reason that their fine notches will not suffice

to admit the stout strings, whereas your men will be in the contrary

case in regard of the enemy's arrows, for the fine string will very

well receive the large-notched arrow, and so your men will have

an abundant supply of arrows, while the enemy will be at a loss for

them.

The King, who lacked not sagacity, appreciated Martuccio's

advice, and gave full effect to it j whereby he came out of the war

a conqueror, and Martuccio, being raised to the chief place in his

favour, waxed rich and powerful. Which matters being bruited

throughout the country, it came to the ears of Gostanza that Mar-

tuccio Gomito, whom she had long supposed to be dead, was alive

whereby her love for him, some embers of which still lurked in her

heart, burst forth again in sudden flame, and gathered strength, and

revived her dead hope. Wherefore she frankly told all her case to

the good lady with whom she dwelt, saying that she would fain go

to Tunis, that her eyes might have assurance of that which the

report received by her ears had made them yearn to see. The lady

fell heartily in with the girl's desire, and, as if she had been her

mother, embarked with her for Tunis, where on their arrival they

were honourably received in the house of one of her kinswomen.

Carapresa, who had attended her, being sent to discover what she

might touching Martuccio, brought back word that he was alive, and

high in honour and place. The gentlewoman was minded that none

but herself should apprise Martuccio of the arrival of his Gostanza :

wherefore she hied her one day to Martuccio, and said :— Mar-

tuccio, there is come to my house a servant of thine from Lipari,

who would fain speak with thee here privily, and for that he wouldnot have me trust another, I am come hither myself to deliver his

message. Martuccio thanked her, and forthwith hied him with her

to her house : where no sooner did the girl see him than she all

but died for joy, and carried away by her feelings, fell upon his neck

with open arms and embraced him, and, what with sorrow of his




past woes and her present happiness, said never a word, but softly

wept. Martuccio regarded her for a while in silent wonder ; then,

heaving a sigh, he said : — Thou livest then, my Gostanza ? Longsince I heard that thou wast lost ; nor was aught known of thee

at home. Which said, he tenderly and with tears embraced her.

Gostanza told him all her adventures, and how honourably she had

been entreated by the gentlewoman with whom she had dwelt.

And so long time they conversed, and then Martuccio parted

from her, and hied him back to his lord the King, and told himall, to wit, his own adventures and those of the girl, adding that

with his leave he was minded to marry her according to our law.

Which matters the King foundpassing

strange j and having calledthe girl to him, and learned from her that 'twas even as Martuccio

had said :— Well indeed, quoth he, hast thou won thy husband,

Then caused he gifts most ample and excellent to be brought forth,

part of which he gave to Gostanza, and part to Martuccio, leaving

them entirely to their own devices in regard of one another. ThenMartuccio, in terms most honourable, bade farewell to the old lady

with whom Gostanza had dwelt, thanking her for the service she

had rendered to Gostanza, and giving her presents suited to her con-

dition, and commending her to God, while Gostanza shed many a

tear : after which, by leave of the King, they went aboard a light

bark, taking with them Carapresa, and, sped by a prosperous breeze,

arrived at Lipari, where they were received with such cheer as 'twere

vain to attempt to describe. There were Martuccio and Gostanza

wedded with all pomp and splendour ; and there long time in

easeful peace they had joyance of their love.

VOL. II.



f

NOVEL III.

Pietro Boccamazza runs away with Agnolella^ andencounters a gang of robbers : the girl takes refuge in

a wood, and is guided to a castle. Pietro is taken, but

escapes out of the hands of the robbers, and after some

adventures arrives at the castle where Agnolella is,

marries her, and returns with her to Rome.

Ended Emilia's story, which none of the company spared to

commend, the queen, turning to Elisa, bade her follow suit ; and she,

with glad obedience, thus began :

'Tis a story, sweet ladies, of a woeful night passed by two indis-

creet young lovers that I have in mind j but, as thereon ensued not a

few days of joy, 'tis not inapposite to our argument,and

shallbe

narrated.

'Tis no long time since at Rome, which, albeit now the tail,^

was of yore the head, of the world, there dwelt a young man, Pietro

Boccamazza by name, a scion of one of the most illustrious of the

Roman houses, who became enamoured of a damsel exceeding fair, andamorous withal —her name Agnolella —the daughter of one Gigliuozzo

Saullo, a plebeian, but in high repute among the Romans. Nor, loving

thus, did Pietro lack the address to inspire in Agnolella a love as ardent

as his own. Wherefore, overmastered by his passion, and minded nolonger to endure the sore suffering that it caused him, he asked her

in marriage. Whereof his kinsfolk were no sooner- apprised, than

with one accord they came to him and strongly urged him to desist

from his purpose : they also gave Gigliuozzo Saullo to understand

1 In reference to the forlorn condition of the city while the seat of the

papacy was at Avignon, 1308-1377.18



^



THIRD STORY.] DECAMERON. 19

that he were best to pay no sort of heed to Pietro's words, for that,

if he so did, they would never acknowledge him as friend or relative.

Thus to see himself debarred of the one way by which he deemedhe might attain to his desire, Pietro was ready to die for grief, and,

all his kinsfolk notwithstanding, he would have married Gigliuozzo's

daughter, had but the father consented. Wherefore at length he

made up his mind that, if the girl were willing, nought should stand

in the way ; and having through a common friend sounded the

damsel and found her apt, he brought her to consent to elope with

him from Rome. The affair being arranged, Pietro and she took

horse betimes one morning, and sallied forth for Anagni, where

Pietro had certain friends, in whom he placed much trust ; and asthey rode, time not serving for full joyance of their love, for they

feared pursuit, they held converse thereof, and from time to time

exchanged a kiss. Now it so befell, that, the way being none too

well known to Pietro, when, perhaps eight miles from Rome, they

should have turned to the right, they took instead a leftward road.

Whereon when they had ridden but little more than two miles, they

found themselves close to a petty castle, whence, so soon as they

were observed, there issued some dozen men at arms ; and, as they

drew near, the damsel, espying them, gave a cry, and said : — We are

attacked, Pietro, let us flee ; and guiding her nag as best she knewtowards a great forest, she planted the spurs in his sides, and so, hold-

ing on by the saddle-bow, was borne by the goaded creature into the

forest at a gallop. Pietro, who had been too engrossed with her face

to give due heed to the way, and thus had not been ware, as soon as

she, of the approach of the men at arms, was still looking about to

see whence they were coming, when they came up with him, and

took him prisoner, and forced him to dismount. Then they asked

who he was, and, when he told them, they conferred among them-

selves, saying : — This is one of the friends of our enemies : what

else can we do but relieve him of his nag and of his clothes, and hang

him on one of these oaks in scorn of the Orsini ? To which

proposal all agreeing, they bade Pietro strip himself: but while,

already divining his fate, he was so doing, an ambuscade of full five-

and-twenty men at arms fell suddenly upon them, crying :—'* Death,

death '* Thus surprised, they let Pietro go, and stood on the

defensive j but, seeing that the enemy greatly outnumbered them,




they took to their heels, the others giving chase. Whereupon Pietro

hastily resumed his clothes, mounted his nag, and fled with all speed

in the direction which he had seen the damsel take. But finding noroad or path through the forest, nor discerning any trace of a horse's

hooves, he was —for that he found not the damsel —albeit he deemedhimself safe out of the clutches of his captors and their assailants, the

most wretched man alive, and fell a weeping and wandering hither andthither about the forest, uttering Agnolella's name. None answered ;

but turn back he dared not : so on he went, not knowing whither

he went ; besides which, he was in mortal dread of the wild beasts

that infest the forest, as well on account of himself as of the damsel,

whom momently he seemed to see throttled by some bear or wolf.Thus did our unfortunate Pietro spend the whole day, wanderingabout the forest, making it to resound with his cries of Agnolella's

name, and harking at times back, when he thought to go forward;

until at last, what with his cries and his tears and his fears and his

long fasting, he was so spent that he could go no further. 'Twasthen nightfall, and, as he knew not what else to do, he dismountedat the foot of an immense oak, and having tethered his nag to the

trunk, climbed up into the branches, lest he should be devoured bythe wild beasts during the night. Shortly afterwards the moon rose

with a very clear sky, and Pietro, who dared not sleep, lest he should

fall, and indeed, had he been secure from that risk, his misery andhis anxiety on account of the damsel would not have suffered him to

sleep, kept watch, sighing and weeping and cursing his evil luck.

Now the damsel, who, as we said before, had fled she knew not

whither, allowing her nag to carry her whithersoever he would,

strayed so far into the forest that she lost sight of the place whereshe had entered it, and spent the whole day just as Pietro had done,

wandering about the wilderniess, pausing from time to time, andweeping, and uttering his name, and bewailing her evil fortune. Atlast, seeing that 'twas now the vesper hour and Pietro came not, she

struck into a path, which the nag followed, until, after riding sometwo miles, she espied at some distance a cottage, for which she madewith all speed, and found there a good man, well stricken in years,

with his wife, who was likewise aged. Seeing her ride up alone,

they said :— Daughter, wherefore ridest thou thus alone at this

hour in these parts ? Weeping, the damsel made answer that she



THIRD STORY.] DECAMERON. ai

had lost her companion in the forest, and asked how far might

Anagni be from there ? My daughter, returned the good man,*'this is not the road to Anagni ; 'tis more than twelve miles away.

And how far off, inqui red the damsel, are the nearest houses in

which one might find lodging for the night ? There are none

so near, replied the good man, ** that thou canst reach them to-day.

Then, so please you, said the damsel, since go elsewhither I

cannot, for God's sake let me pass the night here with you. Where-to the good man made answer :

— Damsel, welcome art thou to tarry

the night with us } but still thou art to know that these parts are infested

both by day and by night by bands, which, be they friends or be they

foes, are alike ill to meet with, and not seldom do much despite andmischief, and if by misadventure one of these bands should visit us

while thou wert here, and marking thy youth and beauty should do

thee despite and dishonour, we should be unable to afford thee any

succour. This we would have thee know, that if it should so cometo pass, thou mayst not have cause to reproach us. The damsel

heard not the old man's words without dismay ; but, seeing that the

hour was now late, she answered :— God, if He be so pleased, will

save both you and me from such molestation, and if not, 'tis a muchlesser evil to be maltreated by men than to be torn in pieces by the

wild beasts in the forest. So saying, she dismounted, and entered

the cottage, where, having supped with the poor man and his wife

on such humble fare as they had, she laid herself in her clothes

beside them in their bed. She slept not, however j for her own evil

plight and that of Pietro, for whom she knew not how to augur

aught but evil, kept her sighing and weeping all night long. Andtowards matins she heard a great noise as of men that marched ; so

up she got and hied her into a large courtyard that was in rear of the

cottage, and part of which was covered with a great heap of hay,

which she espying, hid herself therein, that, if the men came there,

they might not so readily find her. Scarce had she done so than the

men, who proved to be a strong company of marauders, were at the

door of the cottage, which they forced open ; and having entered,

and found the damsel's nag, still saddled, they asked who was there.

The damsel being out of sight, the good man answered :— There

is none here but my wife and I ; but this nag, which has given someone the slip, found his way hither last night, and we housed him, lest




he should be devoured by the wolves. So said the chief of the

band, as he has no ow^ner, he vi^ill come in very, handy for us.

Whereupon, in several parties, they ransacked the cottage from

top to bottom ; and one party went out into the courtyard, where,

as they threw aside their lances and targets, it so befell that one of

them, not knowing where else to bestow his lance, tossed it into the

hay, and was within an ace of killing the damsel that lay hid there,

as likewise she of betraying her whereabouts, for the lance all but

grazing her left breast, insomuch that the head tore her apparel, she

doubted she was wounded, and had given a great shriek, but that,

remembering where she was, she refrained for fear. By and by the

company cooked them a breakfast of kid's and other meat, and having

eaten and drunken, dispersed in divers directions, as their affairs*

required, taking the girl's nag with them. And when they were

gotten some little way off, the good man asked his wife :— What

became of the damsel, our guest of last night, that I have not seen

her since we rose ? The good woman answered that she knewnot where the damsel was, and went to look for her. The damsel,

discovering that the men were gone, came forth of the hay, and

the good man, seeing her, was overjoyed that she had not fallen into

the hands of the ruffians, and, as day was breaking, said to her :

Now that day is at hand, we will, so it like thee, escort thee to a

castle, some five miles hence, where thou wilt be in safety ; but thou

must needs go afoot, because these villains, that are but just gone,

have taken thy nag with them. The damsel, resigning herself to

her loss, besought them for God's sake to take her to the castle

whereupon they set forth, and arrived there about half tierce. Nowthe castle belonged to one of the Orsini, Liello di Campo di Fiore

by name, whose wife, as it chanced, was there. A most kindly

and good woman she was, and, recognizing the damsel as soon as she

saw her, gave her a hearty welcome and would fain have from her a

particular account of how she came there. So the damsel told her

the whole story. The lady, to whom Pietro was also known, asbeing a friend of her husband, was distressed to hear of his misad-

venture, and being told where he was taken, gave him up for dead.

So she said to the damsel :— Since so it is that thou knowest not

how Pietro has fared, thou shalt stay here with me until such time

as I may have opportunity to send thee safely back to Rome.




Meanwhile Pietro, perched on his oak in as woeful a plight as

might be, had espied, when he should have been in his first sleep, a

full score of wolves, that, as they prowled, caught sight of the nag,

and straightway were upon him on all sides. The horse, as soon as he

was ware of their approach, strained on the reins till they snapped,

and tried to make good his escape ; but, being hemmed in, wasbrought to bay, and made a long fight of it with his teeth and hooves

but in the end they bore him down and throttled him and forthwith

eviscerated him, and, the whole pack falling upon him, devoured himto the bone before they had done with him. Whereat Pietro, whofelt that in the nag he had lost a companion and a comfort in his

travail, was sorely dismayed, and began to think that he should neverget out of the forest. But towards dawn, he, perched there in the

oak, almost dead with cold, looking around him as he frequently did,

espied about a mile off a huge fire. Wherefore, as soon as 'twas

broad day, he got down, not without trepidation, from the oak, and

bent his steps towards the fire; and being come to it. He found,

gathered about it, a company of shepherds, eating and making merry,

who took pity on him and made him welcome. And when he had

broken his fast and warmed himself, he told them the mishap that

had befallen him, and how it was that he was corns there alone, and

asked them if there was a farm or castle in those parts, whither he

might betake him. The shepherds said that about three miles awaythere was a castle belonging to Liello di Campo di Fiore, where his lady

was then tarrying. Pietro, much comforted, requested to be guided

thither by some of their company ; whereupon two of them right

gladly escorted him. So Pietro arrived at the castle, where he found

some that knew him j and while he was endeavouring to set on foot

a search for the damsel in the forest, the lady summoned him to her

presence, and he, forthwith obeying, and seeing Agnolella with her,

was the happiest man that ever was. He yearned till he all but

swooned to go and embrace her, but refrained, for bashfulness, in the

lady's presence. And overjoyed as he was, the joy of the damsel

was no less. The lady received him with great cheer, and though,

when she had heard the story of his adventures from his own lips, she

chid him not a little for having set at nought the wishes of his kins-

folk ; yet, seeing that he was still of the same mind, and that the

damsel was also constant, she said to herself: —To what purpose




give I myself all this trouble ? they love one another, they know

one another i they love with equal ardour ; their love is honourable,and I doubt not is well pleasing to God, seeing that the one has

escaped the gallows and the other the lance, and both the wild beasts :

wherefore be it as they would have it. Then, turning to them, she

said :— If 'tis your will to be joihed in wedlock as man and wife,

mine jumps with it : here shall your nuptials be solemnized and at

Liello's charges, and for the rest I will see that your peace is madewith your kinsfolk. So in the castle the pair were wedded, Pietro

only less blithe than Agnolella, the lady ordering the nuptials as

honourably as might be in her mountain-home, and there they had

most sweet joyance of the first fruits of their love. So some days

they tarried there, and then accompanied by the lady with a strong

escort, they took horse and returned to Rome, where, very wroth

though she found Pietro's kinsfolk for what he had done, the lady

re-established solid peace between him and them ; and so at RomePietro and Agnolella lived together to a good old age in great

tranquillity and happiness.



NOVEL IV.

Ricciardo Maiiardi is found by Messer Lizio da Valbona

with his daughter^ whom he marries^ and remains at

peace with her father.

In silence Elisa received the praise bestowed on her story byher fair companions j and then the queen called for a story fromFilostrato, who with a laugh began on this wise : —Chidden have I

been so often and by so many of you for the sore burden, which I

laid upon you, of discourse harsh and meet for tears, that, as somecompensation for such annoy, I deem myself bound to tell you some-

what that may cause you to laugh a little : wherefore my story,

which will be of the briefest, shall be of a love, the course whereof,

save for sighs and a brief passage of fear mingled with shame, ran

smooth to a happy consummation.

Know then, noble ladies, that 'tis no long time since there dwelt

in Romagna a right worthy and courteous knight, Messer Lizio da

Valbona by name, who was already verging upon old age, when, as it

happened, there was born to him of his wife. Madonna Giacomina,

a daughter, who, as she grew up, became the fairest and most debonair

of all the girls of those parts, and, for that she was the only daughter

left to them, was most dearly loved and cherished by her father and

mother, who guarded her with most jealous care, thinking to arrange

some great match for her. Now there was frequently in MesserLizio's house, and much in his company, a fine, lusty young man,

one Ricciardo de' Manardi da Brettinoro, whom Messer Lizio and

his wife would as little have thought of mistrusting as if he had been

their own son : who, now and again taking note of the damsel, that

she was very fair and graceful, and in bearing and behaviour most




commendable, and of marriageable age, fell vehemently in love with

her, which love he was very careful to conceal. The damsel detected

it, however, and in like manner plunged headlong into love with

him, to Ricciardo's no small satisfaction. Again and again he was

on the point of speaking to her, but refrained for fear ; at length,

however, he summoned up his courage, and seizing his opportunity,

thus addressed her : — Caterina, I implore thee, suffer me not to

die for love of thee. Whereto the damsel forthwith responded :

'* Nay, God grant that it be not rather that I die for love of thee.

Greatly exhilarated and encouraged, Ricciardo made answer :

'Twill never be by default of mine that thou lackest aught that

may pleasure thee ; but it rests with thee to find the means to savethy life and mine. Then said the damsel : — Thou seest, Ricciardo,

how closely watched I am, insomuch that I see not how 'twere

possible for thee to come to me ; but if thou seest aught that I maydo without dishonour, speak the word, and I will do it. Ricciardo

was silent a while, pondering many matters : then, of a sudden, he

said :— Sweet my Caterina, there is but one way that I can see,

to wit, that thou shouldst sleep either on or where thou mightst have

access to the terrace by thy father's garden, where, so I but knewthat thou wouldst be there at night, I would without fail contrive

to meet thee, albeit 'tis very high. As for my sleeping there,

replied Caterina, I doubt not that it may be managed, if thou art

sure that thou canst join me. Ricciardo answered in the affirmative.

Whereupon they exchanged a furtive kiss, and parted.

On the morrow, it being now towards the close of May, the

damsel began complaining to her mother that by reason of the

excessive heat she had not been able to get any sleep during the

night. Daughter, said the lady, what heat was there ? Nay,

there was no heat at all. Had you said, * to my thinking,'

mother, rejoined Caterina, you would perhaps have said sooth j

but you should bethink you how much more heat girls have in them

than ladies that are advanced in years. True, my daughter,

returned the lady, but I cannot order that it shall be hot and cold,

as thou perchance wouldst like j we must take the weather as wefind it, and as the seasons provide it : perchance to-night it will be

cooler, and thou wilt sleep bet ter. God grant it be so, said

Caterina, but 'tis not wonted for the nights to grow cooler as the



FOURTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 27

summer comes on. What then, said the lady, wouldst thou

have me do? With your leave and my father's, answeredCaterina, I should like to have a little bed made up on the terrace

by his room and over his garden, where, hearing the nightingales

sing, and being in a much cooler place, I should sleep much better

than in your room. Whereupon : — Daughter, be of good cheer,

said the mother ; I will speak to thy father, and we will do as he

shall decide. So the lady told Messer Lizio what had passed betweenher and the damsel ; but he, being old and perhaps for that reason

a little morose, said : — What nightingale is this, to whose chant

she would fain sleep ? I will see to it that the cicalas shall yet lull

her to sleep. Which speech, coming to Caterina's ears, gave hersuch offence, that for anger, rather than by reason of the heat, she

not only slept not herself that night, but suffered not her mother to

sleep, keeping up a perpetual complaint of the great heat. Where-fore her mother hied her in the morning to Messer Lizio, and said

to him :— Sir, you hold your daughter none too dear ; what differ-

ence can it make to you that she lie on the terrace ? She has tossed

about all night long by reason of the heat j and besides, can youwonder that she, girl that she is, loves to hear the nightingale sing ?

Young folk naturally affect their likes. Whereto Messer Lizio

made answer : — Go, make her a bed there to your liking, and set

a curtain round it, and let her sleep there, and hear the nightingale

sing to her heart's content. Which the damsel no sooner learned,

than she had a bed made there with intent to sleep there that same

night ; wherefore she watched until she saw Ricciardo, whom by a

concerted sign she gave to understand what he was to do. Messer

Lizio, as soon as he had heard the damsel go to bed, locked a door

that led from his room to the terrace, and went to sleep himself.

When all was quiet, Ricciardo with the help of a ladder got upon

a wall, and standing thereon laid hold of certain toothings of another

wall, and not without great exertion and risk, had he fallen, clambered

up on to the terrace, where the damsel received him quietly with

the heartiest of cheer. Many a kiss they exchanged j and then got

them to bed, where well-nigh all night long they had solace and

joyance of one another, and made the nightingale sing not a few

times. But, brief being the night and great their pleasure, towards

dawn, albeit they wist it not, they fell asleep, Caterina's right arm



tS DECAMERON. [fifth day.

encircling Ricciardo's neck, while with her left hand she held him

by that part of his person which your modesty, my ladies, is most

averse to name in the company of men. So, peacefully they slept,

and were still asleep when day broke and Messer Lizio rose ; and

calling to mind that his daughter slept on the terrace, softly opened

the door, saying to himself: —Let me see what sort of night's rest

the nightingale has afforded our Caterina ? And having entered,

he gently raised the curtain that screened the bed, and saw Ricciardo

asleep with her and in her embrace as described, both being quite

naked and uncovered ; and having taken note of Ricciardo, he went

away, and hied him to his lady's room, and called her, saying :— Up,

up, wife, come and see ; for thy daughter has fancied the nightingaleto such purpose that she has caught him, and holds him in her hand.

How can this be ? said the lady. Come quickly, and thou shalt

see, replied Messer Lizio. So the lady huddled on her clothes, and

silently followed Messer Lizio, and when they were come to the

bed, and had raised the curtain. Madonna Giacomina saw plainly

enough how her daughter had caught, and did hold the nightingale,

whose song she had so longed to hear. Whereat the lady, deeming

that Ricciardo had played her a cruel trick, would have cried out

and upbraided him ; but Messer Lizio said to her :— Wife, as thou

valuest my love, say not a word ; for in good sooth, seeing that she

has caught him, he shall be hers. Ricciardo is a gentleman and

wealthy ; an alliance with him cannot but be to our advantage : if

he would part from me on good terms, he must first marry her, so

that the nightingale shall prove to have been put in his own cage

and not in that of another. Whereby the lady was reassured, seeing

that her husband took the affair so quietly, and that her daughter had

had a good night, and was rested, and had caught the nightingale.

So she kept silence ; nor had they long to wait before Ricciardo

awoke ; and, seeing that 'twas broad day, deemed that 'twas as much

as his life was worth, and aroused Caterina, saying :— Alas my

soul, what shall we do, now that day has come and surprised mehere ? Which question Messer Lizio answered by coming forward,

and saying :— We shall do well. At sight of him Ricciardo felt

as if his heart were torn out of his body, and sate up in the bed, and

said :— My lord, I cry you mercy for God's sake. I wot that my

disloyalty and delinquency have merited death ; wherefore deal with




me even as it may seem best to you : however, I pray you, if so it

may be, to spare my life, that I die not. Ricciardo, replied MesscrLizio, the love I bore thee, and the faith I reposed in thee, merited

a better return ; but still, as so it is, and youth has seduced thee into

such a transgression, redeem thy life, and preserve my honour, by

making Caterina thy lawful spouse, that thine, as she has been for

this past night, she may remain for the rest of her life. In this waythou mayst secure my peace and thy safety ; otherwise commend thy

soul to God. Pending this colloquy, Caterina let go the nightingale,

and having covered herself, began with many a tear to implore her

father to forgive Ricciardo, and Ricciardo to do as Messer Lizio

required, that thereby they might securely count upon a long con-tinuance' of such nights of delight. But there needed not muchsupplication ; for, what with remorse for the wrong done, and the

wish to make amends, and the fear of death, and the desire to escape

it, and above all ardent love, and the craving to possess the beloved

one, Ricciardo lost no time in making frank avowal of his readiness

to do as Messer Lizio would have him. Wherefore Messer Lizio,

having borrowed a ring from Madonna Giacomina, Ricciardo did

there and then in their presence wed Caterina. Which done, Messer

Lizio and the lady took their leave, saying :— Now rest ye a while

;

for so perchance 'twere better for you than if ye rose. And so

they left the young folks, who forthwith embraced, and not having

travelled more than six miles during the night, went two miles

further before they rose, and so concluded their first day. Whenthey were risen, Ricciardo and Messer Lizio discussed the matter

with more formality ; and some days afterwards Ricciardo, as was

meet, married the damsel anew in presence of their friends and

kinsfolk, and brought her home with great pomp, and celebrated his

nuptials with due- dignity and splendour. And so for many a year

thereafter he lived with her in peace and happiness, and snared the

nightingales day and night to his heart's content.



NOVEL V.

Gutdotto da Cremona dies leaving a girl to Giacomino da

Pavia. She has two lovers in Faenza, to wit, Gian-

nole di Severino and Minghino di Mingole, who fight

about her. She is discovered to be GiannoWs sister,

and is given to Minghino to wife.

All the ladies laughed so heartily over the story of the nightin-

gale, that, even v^^hen Filostrato had finished, they could not control

their merriment. However, when the laughter was somewhat

abated, the queen said :— Verily if thou didst yesterday afflict us,

to-day thou hast tickled us to such purpose that none of us mayjustly complain of thee. Then, as the turn had now come round

to Neifile, she bade her give them a story. And thus, blithely,

Neifile began : —As Filostrato went to Romagna for the matter of

his discourse, I too am fain to make a short journey through the

same country in what I am about to relate to you.

I say, then, that there dwelt of yore in the city of Fano two

Lombards, the one ycleped Guidotto da Cremona and the other

Giacomino da Pavia, men advanced in life, who, being soldiers, had

spent the best part of their youth in feats of arms. Now Guidotto,

being at the point of death, and having no son or any friend or kins-

man in whom he placed more trust than in Giacomino, left him a

girl of about ten years, and all that he had in the world ; and so,

having given him to know not a little of his affairs, he died. Aboutthe same time the city of Faenza, which had long been at war and

in a most sorry plight, began to recover some measure of prosperity

and thereupon liberty to return thither on honourable terms was

accorded to all that were so minded. Whither, accordingly, Gia-

comino, who had dwelt there aforetime, and liked the place, returned

30



FIFTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 31

with all his goods and chattels, talcing with him the girl left him by

Guidotto, whom he loved and entreated as his daughter. The girl

grew up as beautiful a maiden as was to be found in the city ; and

no less debonair and modest was she than fair. Wherefore she

lacked not admirers; but above all two young men, both very gallant

and of equal merit, the one Giannole di Severino, the other Minghinodi Mingole, affected her with so ardent a passion, that, growing

jealous, they came to hate one another with an inordinate hatred.

Right gladly would each have espoused her, she being now fifteen

years old, but that his kinsmen forbade it ; wherefore seeing that

neither might have her in an honourable way, each determined to

compass his end as best he might.Now Giacomino had in his house an ancient maid, and a man, by

name Crivello, a very pleasant and friendly sort of fellow, with whomGiannole grew familiar, and in due time confided to him all his love,

praying him to further the attainment of his desire, and promising to

reward him handsomely, if he did so. Crivello made answer : — Thoumust know that there is but one way in which I might be of service

to thee in this affair : I might contrive that thou shouldst be where

she is when Giacomino is gone off^ to supper j but, were I to presume

to say aught to her on thy behalf, she would never listen to me.

This, if it please thee, I promise to do for thee, and will be as good

as my word j and then thou canst do whatever thou mayst deemmost expedient. Giannole said that he asked no more j and so 'twas

arranged.

Meanwhile Minghino on his part had made friends with the

maid, on whom he had so wrought that she had carried several

messages to the girl, ^nd had gone far to kindle her to his lov?, and

furthermore had promised to contrive that he should meet her whenfor any cause Giacomino should be from home in the evening. Andso it befell that no long time after these parleys, Giacomino, by

Crivello's management, was to go sup at the house of a friend, and

by preconcert between Crivello and Giannole, upon signal given,

Giannole was to come to Giacomino's house and find the door open.

The maid, on her part, witting nought of the understanding between

Crivello and Giannole, let Minghino know that Giacomino would not

sup at home, and bade him be near the house, so that he might comeand enter it on sight of a signal from her. The evening came j neither




of the lovers knew aught of what the other was about ; but, being

suspicious of one another, they came to take possession, each with

his own company of armed friends. Minghino, while awaiting the

signal, rested with his company in the house of one of his friends

hard by the girl's house: Giannole with his company was posted a

little farther off. Crivello and the maid, when Giacomino was gone,

did each their endeavour to get the other out of the way. Crivello

said to the maid :— How is it thou takest not thyself off to bed,

but goest still hither and thither about the house ? And the maid

said to Crivello :— Nay, but why goest thou not after thy master ?

Thou hast supped ; what awaitest thou here ? And so, neither

being able to make the other quit the post, Crivello, the hourconcerted with Giannole being come, said to himself : —What care

I for her ? If she will not keep quiet, 'tis like to be the worse for

her. Whereupon he gave the signal, and hied him to the door,

which he had no sooner opened, than Giannole entered with two of

his companions, and finding the girl in the saloon, laid hands on her

with intent to carry her off. The girl struggled, and shrieked amain,

as did also the maid. Minghino, fearing the noise, hasted to the

spot with his companions; and, seeing that the girl was already being

borne across the threshold, they drew their swords, and cried out in

chorus :— Ah Traitors that ye are, ye are all dead men 'Twill

go otherwise than ye think for. What means this force ? Which

said, they fell upon them with their swords, while the neighbours,

alarmed by the noise, came hurrying forth with lights and arms, and

protested that 'twas an outrage, and took Minghino's part. So, after

a prolonged struggle, Minghino wrested the girl from Giannole, and

set her again in Giacomino's house. Nor were the combatants

separated before the officers of the Governor of the city came up

and arrested not a few of them ; among them Minghino and Gian-

nole and Crivello, whom they marched off to prison. However,peace being restored and Giacomino returned, 'twas with no little

chagrin that he heard of the affair ; but finding upon investigation

that the girl was in no wise culpable, he was somewhat reassured;

and determined, lest the like should again happen, to bestow the girl

in marriage as soon as might be.

On the morrow the kinsfolk of the two lovers, having learned

the truth of the matter, and knowing what evil might ensue to the



FIFTH sTORv.] DECAMERON. 33

captives, if Giacomino should be minded to take the course which

he reasonably might, came and gave him good words, beseeching himto let the kindly feeling, the love, which they believed he bore

to them, his suppliants, count for more with him than the wrongthat the hare-brained gallants had done him, and on their part and

their own offering to make any amend that he might require.

Giacomino, who had seen many things in his time, and lacked not

sound sense, made answer briefly : — Gentlemen, were I in my owncountry, as I am in yours, I hold myself in such sort your friend

that nought would I do in this matter, or in any other, save what

might be agreeable to you : besides which, I have the more reason

to consider your wishes, because 'tis against you yourselves that youhave offended, inasmuch as this damsel, whatever many folk maysuppose, is neither of Cremona nor of Pavia, but is of Faenza, albeit

neither I nor she, nor he from whom I had her, did ever wot whose

daughter she was : wherefore, touching that you ask of me, I will

even do just as you bid me. The worthy men found it passing

strange that the girl should be of Faenza ; and having thanked Giaco-

mino for his handsome answer, they besought him that he would be

pleased to tell them how she had come into his hands, and how he

knew that she was of Faenza. To whom Giacomino replied on

this wise :— A comrade and friend I had, Guidotto da Cremona,

who, being at the point of death, told me that, when this city of

Faenza was taken by the Emperor Frederic, he and his comrades,

entering one of the houses during the sack, found there good store of

booty, and never a soul save this girl, who, being two years old or

thereabouts, greeted him as father as he came up the stairs ; wherefore

he took pity on her, and carried her with whatever else was in the

house away with him to Fano ; where on his deathbed he left her to

me, charging me in due time to bestow her in marriage, and give her

all his goods and chattels by way of dowry : but, albeit she is nowof marriageable age, I have not been able to provide her with a

husband to my mind ; though right glad should I be to do so, that

nought like the event of yesterday may again befall me.

Now among the rest of those present was one Guglielmo da

Medicina, who had been with Guidotto on that occasion, and knewwell whose house it was that Guidotto had sacked ; and seeing the

owner there among the rest, he went up to him, and said :— Dost

VOL. II. D




hear, Bernabuccio, what Giacomino says ? Ay, answered Berna-

buccio, and I gave the more heed thereto, for that I call to mindthat during those disorders I lost a little daughter of just the age that

Giacomino speaks of. 'Tis verily she then, said Guglielmo,

for once when I was with Guidotto I heard him describe what house

it was that he had sacked, and I wist that 'twas thine. Whereforesearch thy memory if there be any sign by which thou thinkest to

recognize her, and let her be examined that thou mayst be assured that

she is thy daughter. So Bernabuccio pondered a while, and then

recollected that she ought to have a scar, shewing like a tiny cross,

above her left ear, being where he had excised a tumour a little while

before that affair : wherefore without delay hewent up to Giacomino,

who was still there, and besought him to let him go home with

him and see the damsel. Giacomino gladly did so, and no sooner was

the girl brought into Bernabuccio's presence, than, as he beheld her,

'twas as if he saw the face of her mother, who was still a beautiful

woman. However, he would not rest there, but besought Giacomino

of his grace to permit him to lift a lock or two of hair above her left

ear ; whereto Giacomino consented. So Bernabuccio approached

her where she stood somewhat shamefast, and with his right hand

lifted her locks, and, seeing the cross, wist that in very truth she was

his daughter, and tenderly wept and embraced her, albeit she with-

stood him ; and then, turning to Giacomino, he said : — Mybrother, the girl is my daughter ; 'twas my house that Guidotto

sacked, and so sudden was the assault that my wife, her mother,

forgot her, and we have always hitherto supposed, that, my house

being burned that same day, she perished in the flames. Catching

his words, and seeing that he was advanced in years, the girl inclined

to believe him, and impelled by some occult instinct, suffered his

embraces, and melting, mingled her tears with his. Bernabuccio

forthwith sent for her mother and her sisters and other kinswomen

and her brothers, and having shewn her to them all, and told the

story, after they had done her great cheer and embraced her a

thousand times, to Giacomino's no small delight, he brought her

home with him. Which coming to the ears of the Governor of the

city, the worthy man, knowing that Giannole, whom he had in

ward, was Bernabuccio's son and the girl's brother, made up his

mind to deal leniently with Giannole: wherefore he took upon




himself the part of mediator in the affair, and having made peace

between Bcrnabuccio and Giacomino and Giannole and Minghino,gave Agnesa —such was the damsel's name —to Minghino to wife, to

the great delight of all Minghino's kinsfolk, and set at liberty not

only Giannole and Minghino but Crivello, and the others their

confederates in the affair. Whereupon Minghino with the blithest

of hearts wedded Agnesa with all due pomp and circumstance, and

brought her home, where for many a year thereafter he lived with

her in peace and prosperity.



NOVEL VI.

Gianni di Procida, being found with a damsel that he

* loves^ and who had been given to King Frederic^ is

bound with her to a stake, so to be burned. He is

recognized by Ruggieri delT Oria, is delivered, and

marries her,

Neifile's story, with which the ladies were greatly delighted,

being ended, the queen called for one from Pampinea ; who forth-

with raised her noble countenance, and thus began : —Mighty

indeed, gracious ladies, are the forces of Love, and great are the

labours and excessive and unthought-of the perils which they induce

lovers to brave ; as is manifest enough by what we have heard

to-day and on other occasions ; howbeit I mean to shew you the

same once more by a story of an enamoured youth.

Hard by Naples is the island of Ischia, in which there dwelt

aforetime with other young damsels one, Restituta by name, daughter

of one Marin Bolgaro, a gentleman of the island. Very fair was

she, and blithe of heart, and by a young gallant, Gianni by name,

of the neighbouring islet of Procida, was beloved more dearly than

life, and in like measure returned his love. Now, not to mention his

daily resort to Ischia to see her, there were times not a few whenGianni, not being able to come by a boat, would swim across from

Procida by night, that he might have sight, if of nought else, at

least of the walls of her house. And while their love burned thusfervently, it so befell that one summer's day, as the damsel was all

alone on the seashore, picking her way from rock to rock, detaching,

as she went, shells from their beds with a knife, she came to a recess

among the rocks, where for the sake, as well of the shade as of the

comfort afforded by a spring of most cool water that was there,

36



SIXTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 37

some Sicilian gallants, that were come from Naples, had put in with

their felucca. Who, having taken note of the damsel, that she wasvery fair, and that she was not yet ware of them, and was alone,

resolved to capture her, and carry her away ; nor did they fail to

give effect to their resolve ; but, albeit she shrieked amain, they laid

hands on her, and set her aboard their boat, and put to sea. Arrived

at Calabria, they fell a wrangling as to whose the damsel should be,

and in brief each claimed her for his own : wherefore, finding no

means of coming to an agreement, and fearing that worse might

befall them, and she bring misfcfrtune upon them, they resolved with

one accord to give her to Frederic, King of Sicily, who was then a

young man, and took no small delight in commodities of thatquality ; and so, being come to Palermo, they did.

Marking her beauty, the King set great store by her ; but as she

was somewhat indisposed, he commanded that, till she was stronger,

she should be lodged and tended in a very pretty villa that was in

one of his gardens, which he called Cuba ; and so 'twas done. Thepurloining of the damsel caused no small stir in Ischia, more especi-

ally because 'twas impossible to discover by whom she had been

carried off. But Gianni, more concerned than any other, despairing

of finding her in Ischia, and being apprised of the course the felucca

had taken, equipped one himself, and put to sea, and in hot haste

scoured the whole coast from Minerva to Scalea in Calabria, making

everywhere diligent search for the damsel, and in Scalea learned

that she had been taken by Sicilian mariners to Palermo. Whither,

accordingly, he hied him with all speed ; and there after long search

discovering that she had been given to the King, who kept her at

Cuba, he was sore troubled, insomuch that he now scarce ventured

to hope that he should ever set eyes on her, not to speak of having

her for his own, again. But still, holden by Love, and seeing that

none there knew him, he sent the felucca away, and tarried there,

and frequently passing by Cuba, he chanced one day to catch sight

of her at a window, and was seen of her, to their great mutual

satisfaction. And Gianni, taking note that the place was lonely,

made up to her, and had such speech of her as he might, and being

taught by her after what fashion he must proceed, if he would have

further speech of her, he departed, but not till he had made himself

thoroughly acquainted with the configuration of the place ; and




having waited until night was come and indeed fer spent, he returned

thither, and though the ascent was such that 'twould scarce haveafforded lodgment to a woodpecker, won his way up and entered the

garden, where, finding a pole, he set it against the window which

the damsel had pointed out as hers, and thereby swarmed up easily

enough.

The damsel had aforetime shewn herself somewhat distant

towards him, being careful of her honour, but now deeming it

already lost, she had bethought her that there was none to whomshe might more worthily give herself than to him ; and reckoning

upon inducing him to carry her off, she had made up her mind to

gratify his every desire ; and to that end had left the window openthat his ingress might be unimpeded. So, finding it open, Gianni

softly entered, l?y down beside the damsel, who was awake, and

before they went further, opened to him all her mind, beseeching

him most earnestly to take her thence, and carry her off. Gianni

replied that there was nought that would give him so much pleasure,

and that without fail, upon leaving her, he would make all needful

arrangements for bringing her away when he next came. Where-upon with exceeding great delight they embraced one another, and

plucked that boon than which Love has no greater to bestow ; and

having so done divers times, they unwittingly fell asleep in one

another's arms.

Now towards daybreak the King, who had been greatly charmed

with the damsel at first sight, happened to call her to mind, and

feeling himself fit, resolved, notwithstanding the hour, to go lie with

her a while ; and so, attended by a few of his servants, he hied himprivily to Cuba. Having entered the house, he passed (the door

being softly opened) into the room in which he knew the damsel

slept. A great blazing torch was borne before him, and so, as he

bent his glance on the bed, he espied the damsel and Gianni lying

asleep, naked and in one another's arms. Whereat he was seized

with a sudden and vehement passion of wrath, insomuch that, dlbeit

he said never a word, he could scarce refrain from slaying both of

them there and then with a dagger that he had with him. Then,bethinking him that 'twere the depth of baseness in any man —not

to say a king —to slay two naked sleepers, he mastered himself, and

determined to do them to death in public and by fire. Wherefore,



4 \ |^



SIXTH STORY,] DECAMERON. 39

turning to a single companion that he had with him, he said:

What thinkest thou of

this basewoman,

in

whom I had placedmy hope ?

** And then he asked whether he knew the gallant, that

had presumed to enter his house to do him such outrage and despite.

Whereto the other replied that he minded not ever to have seen

him. Thereupon the King hied him out of the room in a rage,

and bade take the two lovers, naked as they were, and bind them,

and, as soon as 'twas broad day, bring them to Palermo, and bind

them back to back to a stake in the piazza, there to remain until

tierce, that all might see them, after which they were to be burned,

as they had deserved. And having so ordered, he went back to

Palermo, and shut himself up in his room, very wroth.

No sooner was he gone than there came unto the two lovers folk

not a few, who, having awakened them, did forthwith ruthlessly take

and bind them : whereat, how they did grieve and tremble for

their lives, and weep and bitterly bewail their fate, may readily be

understood.

Pursuant to the King's commandment they were brought to

Palermo, and bound to a stake in the piazza j and before their eyes

faggots and fire were made ready to burn them at the hour appointed

by the King. Great was the concourse of the folk of Palermo, both

men and women, that came to see the two lovers, the men all agog

to feast their eyes on the damsel, whom they lauded for shapeliness

and loveliness, and no less did the women commend the gallant,

whom in like manner they crowded to see, for the same qualities.

Meanwhile the two hapless lovers, both exceeding shamefast, stood

with bent heads bitterly bewailing their evil fortune, and momentlyexpecting their death by the cruel fire. So they awaited the time

appointed by the King ; but their ofFence being bruited abroad, the

tidings reached the ears of Ruggieri dell' Oria, a man of peerless

worth, and at that time the King's admiral, who, being likewise

minded to see them, came to the place where they were bound, and

after gazing on the damsel and finding her very fair, turned to lookat the gallant, whom with little trouble he recognized, and drawing

nearer to him, he asked him if he were Gianni di Procida. Gianni

raised his head, and recognizing the admiral, made answer :— My

lord, he, of whom you speak, I was ; but I am now as good as nomore. The admiral then asked him what it was that had brought




him to such a pass. Whereupon : — Love and the King's wrath,

quoth Gianni. The admiral induced him to be more explicit, andhaving learned from him exactly how it had come about, was turning

away, when Gianni called him back, saying :— Oh my lord, if so

it may be, procure me one favour of him by whose behest I thus

stand here. What favour ? demanded Ruggieri. I see,

returned Gianni, that die I must, and that right soon. I crave,

then, as a favour, that, whereas this damsel and I, that have loved one

another more dearly than life, are here set back to back, we may be

set face to face, that I may have the consolation of gazing on her

face as I depart. Ruggieri laughed as he replied :-^ With all my

heart. I will so orderit that

thoushalt see

enoughof her to tire or

her. He then left him and charged the executioners to do nothing

more without further order of the King j and being assured of their

obedience, he hied him forthwith to the King, to whom, albeit he

found him in a wrathful mood, he spared not to speak his mind,

saying : — Sire, wherein have they wronged thee, those two young

folk, whom thou hast ordered to be burned down there in the

piazza ? The King told him. Whereupon Ruggieri continued:

Their offence does indeed merit such punishment, but not at thy

hands, and if misdeeds should not go unpunished, services should not

go unrewarded ; nay, may warrant indulgence and mercy. Knowest

thou who they are whom thou wouldst have burned ? The King

signified that he did not. Whereupon Ruggieri : — But I, quoth

he, am minded that thou shouldst know them, to the end that thou

mayst know with what discretion thou surrenderest thyself to a

transport of rage. The young man is the son of Landolfo di

Procida, brother of Messer Gianni di Procida, to whom thou owest

it that thou art lord and king of this island. The damsel is a

daughter of Marin Bolgaro, whose might alone to-day prevents

Ischia from throwing off thy yoke. Moreover, these young folk

have long been lovers, and 'tis for that the might of Love constrained

them, and not that they would do despite to thy lordship, that they

have committed this offence, if indeed 'tis meet to call that an

offence which young folk do for Love's sake. Wherefore, then,

wouldst thou do them to death, when thou shouldst rather do them

all cheer, and honour them with lordly gifts ? The King gave ear

to Ruggieri's words, and being satisfied that he spoke sooth, repented



MXTH STORV.] DECAMERON. 41

him, not only of his evil purpose, but of what he had already done,

and forthwith gave order to loose the two young folk from the

stake, and bring them before him ; and so 'twas done. And having

fiiUy apprised himself of their case, he saw fit to make them amendsof the wrong he had done them with honours and largess. Where-fore he caused them to be splendidly arrayed, and being assured that

they were both minded to wed, he himself gave Gianni his bride,

and loading them with rich presents, sent them well content back to

Ischia, where they were welcomed with all festal cheer, and lived

long time thereafter to their mutual solace and delight.

L



NOVEL VII.

Teodoro, being enamoured of Violante, daughter of Messer

Amerigo, his lord, gets her with child, and is sentenced

to the gallows ; hut while he is being scourged

thither, he is recognized by his father, and being set

at large, takes Violante to wife.

While they doubted whether the two lovers would be burned,

the ladies were all fear and suspense ; but when they heard of their

deliverance, they all with one accord put on a cheerful countenance,

praising God. The story ended, the queen ordained that the next

should be told by Lauretta, who blithely thus began :

Fairest ladies, what time good King Guglielmo ruled Sicily theredwelt on the island a gentleman, Messer Amerigo Abate da Trapani

by name, who was well provided, as with other temporal goods, so

also with children. For which cause being in need of servants, he

took occasion of the appearance in Trapani waters of certain Geno-

ese corsairs from the Levant, who, scouring the coast of Armenia,

had captured not a few boys, to purchase of them some of these

youngsters, supposing them to be Turks ; among whom, albeit most

shewed as mere shepherd boys, there was one, Teodoro by name,

whose less rustic mien seemed to betoken gentle blood. Who,though still treated as a slave, was suffered to grow up in the house

with Messer Amerigo's children, and, nature getting the better of

circumstance, bore himself with such grace and dignity that Messer

Amerigo gladly gave him his freedom, and still deeming him to be

a Turk, had him baptized and named Pietro, and made him his major-

domo, and placed much trust in him. Now among the other

children that grew up in Messer Amerigo's house was his fair and42



SEVENTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 43

dainty daughter, Violante; and, as her father was in no hurry to give

her in marriage, it so befell that she became enamoured of Pietro ;

but, for all her love and the great conceit she had of his qualities

and conduct, she nevertheless was too shamefast to discover her

passion to him. However, Love spared her the pains, for Pietro had

cast many a furtive glance in her direction, and had grown so

ehamoured of her that 'twas never well with him except he saw her;

but great was his fear lest any should detect his passion, for he

deemed 'twould be the worse for him. The damsel, who was fain

indeed of the sight of him, understood his case ; and to encourage

him dissembled not her exceeding great satisfaction. On which

footing they remained a great while, neither venturing to say aughtto the other, much as both longed to do so. But, while they both

burned with a mutual flame. Fortune, as if their entanglement

were of her preordaining, found means to banish the fear and

hesitation that kept them tongue-tied.

Messer Amerigo possessed, a mile or so from Trapani, a goodly

estate, to which he was wont not seldom to resort with his daughter

and other ladies by way of recreation ; and on one of these days,

while there they tarried with Pietro, whom they had brought with

them, suddenly, as will sometimes happen in summer, the sky became

overcast with black clouds, insomuch that the lady and her compan-ions, lest the storm should surprise them there, set out on their return

to Trapani, making all the haste they might. But Pietro and the

girl being young, and sped perchance by Love no less than by fear of

the storm, completely outstripped her mother and the other ladies

and when they were gotten so far ahead as to be well-nigh out of

sight of the lady and all the rest, the thunder burst upon them peal

upon peal, hard upon which came a fall of hail very thick and close,

from which the lady sought shelter in the house of a husbandman.

Pietro and the damsel, finding no more convenient refuge, betook

them to an old, and all but ruinous, and now deserted, cottage, which,

however, still had a bit of roof left, whereunder they both took their

stand in such close quarters, owing to the exiguity of the shelter, that

they perforce touched one another. Which contact was the occasion

that they gathered somewhat more courage to disclose their love ;

and so it was that Pietro began on this wise :— Now would to God

that this hail might never cease, that so I might stay here for ever




And well content were I, returned the damsel. And by and by

their hands met, not without a tender pressure, and then they fell to

embracing and so to kissing one another, while the hail continued.

And not to dwell on every detail, the sky was not clear before they

had known the last degree of love's felicity, and had taken thought

how they might secretly enjoy one another in the future. Thecottage being close to the city gate, they hied them thither, as soon

as the storm was overpast, and having there awaited the lady, returned

home with her. Nor, using all discretion, did they fail thereafter to

meet from time to time in secret, to their no small solace ; and the

affair went so far that the damsel conceived, whereby they were both

not a little disconcerted ; insomuch that the damsel employed manyartifices to arrest the course of nature, but to no effect. Wherefore

Pietro, being in fear of his life, saw nothing for it but flight, and told

her so. Whereupon: — If thou leave me, quoth she, I shall

certainly kill myself. Much as he loved her, Pietro answered :

Nay but, my lady, wherefore wouldst thou have me tarry here .?

Thy pregnancy will discover our offence : thou wilt be readily

forgiven ; but 'twill be my woeful lot to bear the penalty of thy sin

and mine. Pietro, returned the damsel, too well will they wot

of my offence, but be sure that, if thou confess not, none will ever

wot of thine. Then quoth he :— Since thou givest me this

promise, I will stay; but mind thou keep it.

The damsel, who had done her best to keep her condition secret,

saw at length by the increase of her bulk that 'twas impossible :

wherefore one day most piteously bewailing herself, she made her

avowal to her mother, and besought her to shield her from the

consequences. Distressed beyond measure, the lady chid her severely,

and then asked her how it had come to pass. The damsel, to screen

Pietro, invented a story by which she put another complexion on the

affair. The lady believed her, and, that her fall might not be

discovered, took her off to one of their estates ; where, the time of her

delivery being come, and she, as women do in such a case, crying out

for pain, it so befell that Messer Am.erigo, whom the lady expected

not, as indeed he was scarce ever wont, to come there, did so, having

been out a hawking, and passing by the chamber where the damsel

lay, marvelled to hear her cries, and forthwith entered, and asked whatit meant. On sight of whom the lady rose and sorrowfully gave him




her daughter's version of what had befallen her. But he, less credu-

lous than his wife, averred that it could not be true that she knewnot by whom she was pregnant, and was minded to know the wholetruth: let the damsel confess and she might regain his favour;

otherwise she must expect no mercy and prepare for death.

The lady did all she could to induce her husband to rest satisfied

with what she had told him ; but all to no purpose. Mad with rage,

he rushed, drawn sword in hand, to his daughter's bedside (she, pend-

ing the parley, having given birth to a boy) and cried out : — Declare

whose this infant is, or forthwith thou diest. Overcome by fear of

death, the damsel broke her promise to Pietro, and made a clean

breast of all that had passed between him and her. Whereat theknight, grown fell with rage, could scarce refrain from slaying her.

However, having given vent to his wrath in such words as it

dictated, he remounted his horse and rode to Trapani, and there

before one Messer Currado, the King's lieutenant, laid information of

the wrong done him by Pietro, in consequence whereof Pietro, whosuspected nothing, was forthwith taken, and being put to the torture,

confessed all. Some days later the lieutenant sentenced him to be

scourged through the city, and then hanged by the neck ; and Messer

Amerigo, being minded that one and the same hour should rid the

earth of the two lovers and their son (for to have compassed Pietro's

death was not enough to appease his wrath), mingled poison and wine

in a goblet, and gave it to one of his servants with a drawn sword,

saying : — Get thee with this gear to Violante, and tell her from meto make instant choice of one of these two deaths, either the poison

• or the steel ; else, I will have her burned, as she deserves, in view of

all the citizens j which done, thou wilt take the boy that she bore a

few days ago, and beat ,his brains out against the wall, and cast his

body for a prey to the dogs.

Hearing the remorseless doom thus passed by the angry fether

upon both his daughter and his grandson, the servant, prompt to do

evil rather than good, hied him thence.

Now, as Pietro in execution of his sentence was being scourged to

the gallows by the Serjeants, 'twas so ordered by the leaders of the band

that he passed by an inn, where were three noblemen of Armenia,

sent by the king of that country as ambassadors to Rome, to treat

with the Pope of matters of the highest importance, touching a




crusade that was to be ; who, having there alighted to rest and recre-

ate them for some days, had received not a few tokens of honour

from the nobles of Trapani, and most of all from Messer Amerigo.

Hearing the tramp of Pietro*s escort, they came to a window to see

what was toward j and one of them, an aged man, and of great

authority, Fineo by name, looking hard at Pietro, who was stripped

from the waist up, and had his hands bound behind his back, espied

on his breast a great spot of scarlet, not laid on by art, but wrought

in the skin by operation of Nature, being such as the ladies here call

a rose. Which he no sooner saw, than he was reminded of a son

that had been stolen from him by corsairs on the coast of Lazistan

some fifteen years before, nor had he since been able to hear tidingsof him ; and guessing the age of the poor wretch that was being

scourged, he set it down as about what his son's would be, were

he living, and, what with the mark and the age, he began to

suspect that 'twas .even his son, and bethought him that, if so, he

would scarce as yet have forgotten his name or the speech of Armenia.

Wherefore, as he was within earshot he called to him : — Teo-doro At the word Pietro raised his head ; whereupon Fineo,

speaking in Armenian, asked him : — Whence and whose son art

thou ? The Serjeants, that were leading him, paused in deference

to the great man, and so Pietro answered :-^ Of Armenia was I,

son of one Fineo, brought hither by folk I wot not of, when I was

but a little child. Then Fineo, witting that in very truth 'twas

the boy that he had lost, came down with his companions, weeping;

and, all the Serjeants making way, he ran to him, and embraced him,

and doffing a mantle of richest texture that he wore, he prayed the

captain of the band to be pleased to tarry there until he should receive

orders to go forward, and was answered by the captain that he would

willingly so wait.

Fineo already knew, for 'twas bruited everywhere, the cause for

which Pietro was being led to the gallows ; wherefore he straightway

hied him with his companions and their retinue to Messer Currado,

and said to him :— Sir, this lad, whom you are sending to the

gallows like a slave, is freeborn, and my son, and is ready to take to

wife her whom, as 'tis said, he has deflowered j so please you, therefore,

delay the execution until such time as it may be understood whether

she be minded to have him for husband, lest, should she be so minded,




you be found to have broken the law.'* Messcr Currado marvelled

to hear that Pietro was Fineo's son, and not without shame, albeit

'twas not his but Fortune's fault, confessed that 'twas even as Fineo

said : and having caused Pietro to be taken home with all speed, and

Messer Amerigo to be brought before him, told him the wholematter. Messer Amerigo, who supposed that by this time his

daughter and grandson must be dead, was the saddest man in the world

to think that 'twas by his deed, wftting that, were the damsel still alive,

all might very easily be set right : however, he sent post haste to his

daughter's abode, revoking his orders, if they were not yet carried

out. The servant, whom he had earlier despatched, had laid the

sword and poison before the damsel, and, for that she was in no hurryto make her choice, was giving her foul words, and endeavouring to

constrain her thereto, when the messenger arrived j but on hearing

the injunction laid upon him by his lord, he desisted, and went back,

and told him how things stood. Whereupon Messer Amerigo, muchrelieved, hied him to Fineo, and well-nigh weeping, and excusing

himself for what had befallen, as best he knew how, craved his

pardon, and professed himself well content to give Teodoro, so he

were minded to have her, his daughter to wife. Fineo readily

accepted his excuses, and made answer : — 'Tis my will that my son

espouse your daughter, and, so he willnot, let

thy sentence passedupon him be carried out.

So Fineo and Messer Amerigo being agreed, while Teodoro still

languished in fear of death, albeit he was glad at heart to have found

his father, they questioned him of his will in regard of this matter.

When he heard that, if he would, he might have Violante to

wife, Teodoro's delight was such that he seemed to leap from hell

to paradise, and said that, if 'twas agreeable to them all, he should

deem it the greatest of favours. So they sent to the damsel to learn

her pleasure ; who, having heard how it had fared, and was now like

to fare, with Teodoro, albeit, saddest of women, she looked for

nought but death, began at length to give some credence to their

words, and to recover heart a little, and answered that, were she to

follow the bent of her desire, nought that could happen would delight

her more than to be Teodoro's wife j but nevertheless she would do

as her father bade her.

So, all agreeing, the damsel was espoused with all pomp and festal



NOVEL VIII.

Nastagio degli Onesti^ loving a damsel of the Traversari

family^ by lavish expenditure gains not her love. Atthe instance of his kinsfolk he hies him to Chiassi,

where he sees a knight hunt a damsel and slay her and

cause her to be devoured by two dogs. He bids his

kinsfolk and the lady that he loves to breakfast.

During the meal the said damsel is torn in pieces

before the eyes of the lady, who, fearing a like fate,

takes Nastagio to husband.

Lauretta was no sooner silent than thus at the queen's behest

began Filomena : —Sweet ladies, as in us pity has ever its meed of

praise, even so Divine justice suffers not our cruelty to escape severe

chastisement : the which that I may shew you, and thereby dispose

you utterly to banish that passion from your souls, I am minded to

tell you a story no less touching than delightsome.

In Ravenna, that most ancient city of Romagna, there dwelt of yore

noblemen and gentlemen not a few, among whom was a young man,

Nastagio degli Onesti by name, who by the death of his father and one

of his uncles inherited immense wealth. Being without a wife, Nas-

tagio, as 'tis the way with young men, became enamoured of a daughter

of Messer Paolo Traversaro, a damsel of much higher birth than his,

whose love he hoped to win by gifts and the like modes of courting,

which, albeit they were excellent and fair and commendable, not

only availed him not, but seemed rather to have the contrary effect,

so harsh and ruthless and unrelenting did the beloved damsel shew

herself towards him j for whether it was her uncommon beauty or

VOL. II. 49 *




her noble lineage that puffed her up, so haughty and disdainful was

she grown that pleasure she had none either in him or in aught that

pleased him. The burden of which disdain Nastagio found so hard

to bear, that many a time, when he had made his moan, he longed to

make away with himself. However he refrained therefrom, and

many a time resolved to give her up altogether, or, if so he might, to

hold her in despite, as she did him : but 'twas all in vain, for it

seemed as if, the more his hope dwindled, the greater grew his love.

And, as thus he continued, loving and spending inordinately, certain

of his kinsfolk and friends, being apprehensive lest he should waste

both himself and his substance, did many a time counsel and beseech

him to depart Ravenna, and go tarry for a time elsewhere, that so hemight at once cool his flame and reduce his charges. For a long

while Nastagio answered their admonitions with banter j but as they

continued to ply him with them, he grew weary of saying no so

often, and promised obedience. Whereupon he equipped himself as

if for a journey to France or Spain, or other distant parts, got on

horseback and sallied forth of Ravenna, accompanied by not a few of

his friends, and being come to a place called Chiassi, about three

miles from Ravenna, he halted, and having sent for tents and pavilions,

told his companions that there he meant to stay, and they might go

back toRavenna. So Nastagio pitched his camp, and there com-

menced to live after as fine and lordly a fashion as did ever any man,

bidding divers of his friends from time to time to breakfast or sup

with him, as he had been wont to do. Now it so befell that about

the beginning of May, the season being very fine, he fell a brooding

on the cruelty of his mistress, and, that his meditations might be the

less disturbed, he bade all his servants leave him, and sauntered slowly,

wrapt in thought, as far as the pinewood. Which he had threaded

for a good half-mile, when, the fifth hour of the day being well-nigh

past, yet he recking neither of food nor of aught else, 'twas as if he

heard a woman wailing exceedingly and uttering most piercing

shrieks : whereat, the train of his sweet melancholy being broken,

he raised his head to see what was toward, and wondered to find him-

self in the pinewood ; and saw, moreover, before him running through

a grove, close set with underwood and brambles, towards the place

where he was, a damsel most comely, stark naked, her hair dishevelled,

and her flesh all torn by the briers and brambles, who wept and cried



EIGHTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 51

piteously for mercy ; and at her flanks he saw two mastiffs, exceed-

ing great and fierce, that ran hard upon her track, and not seldom

came up with her and bit her cruelly; and in the rear he saw, riding

a black horse, a knight sadly accoutred, and very wrathful of mien,

carrying a rapier in his hand, and with despiteful, blood-curdling

words threatening her with death. Whereat he was at once amazed

and appalled, and then filled with compassion for the hapless lady,

whereof was bred a desire to deliver her, if so he might, from such

anguish and peril of death. Wherefore, as he was unarmed, he ran

and took in lieu of a cudgel a branch of a tree, with which he prepared

to encounter the dogs and the knight. Which the knight observing,

called to him before he was come to close quarters, saying :

— Holdoff, Nastagio, leave the dogs and me alone to deal with this vile

woman as she has deserved. And, even as he spoke, the dogs

gripped the damsel so hard on either flank that they arrested her flight,

and the knight, being come up, dismounted. Whom Nastagio

approached, saying : — I know not who thou art, that knowest meso well, but thus much I tell thee : 'tis a gross outrage for an armed

knight to go about to kill a naked woman, and set his dogs upon her

as if she were a wild beast : rest assured that I shall do all I can to

protect her. Whereupon :— Nastagio, replied the knight, of

the samecity as thou was I, and

thouwast

yet alittle lad

whenI,

Messer Guido degli Anastagi by name, being far more enamoured of

this damsel than thou art now of her of the Traversari, was by her

haughtiness and cruelty brought to so woeful a pass that one day

in a fit of despair I slew myself with this rapier which thou seest

ill my hand j for which cause I am condemned to the eternal

pains. Nor was it long after my death that she, who exulted

therein over measure, also died, and for that she repented her

not of her cruelty and the joy she had of my sufferings, for

which she took not blame to herself, but merit, was likewise

condemned to the pains of hell. Nor had she sooner made her

descent, than for her pain and mine 'twas ordained, that she should

flee before me, and that I, who so loved her, should pursue her, not as

my beloved lady, but as my mortal enemy, and so, as often as I comeup with her, I slay her with this same rapier with which I slew

myself, and having ripped her up by the back, I take out that hard

and cold heart, to which neither love nor pit)' had ever access, and




living ; and I am now ready so to do, provided you procure me one

favour, to wit, that next Friday Messer Paolo Traversaro, and his

wife and daughter, and all the ladies, their kinswomen, and as manyother ladies as you may be pleased to bid, come hither to breakfast

with me : when you will see for yourselves the reason why I so

desire. A small matter this seemed to them ; and so, on their

return to Ravenna, they lost no time in conveying Nastagio's message

to his intended guests : and, albeit she was hardly persuaded, yet in

the end the damsel that Nastagio loved came with the rest.

Nastagio caused a lordly breakfast to be prepared, and had the

tables set under the pines about the place where he had witnessed

the slaughter of the cruel lady ; and in ranging the ladies and

gentlemfen at table he so ordered it, that the damsel whom he loved

was placed opposite the spot where it should be enacted. The last

course was just served, when the despairing cries of the hunted

damsel became audible to all, to their no small amazement ; and

each asking, and none knowing, what it might import, up they all

started intent to see what was toward ; and perceived the suffering

damsel, and the knight and the dogs, who in a trice were in their

midst. They hollaed amain to dogs and knight, and not a few

advanced to succour the damsel : but the words of the knight, which

were such as he had used to Nastagio, caused them to fall back,terror-stricken and lost in amazement. And when the knight pro-

ceeded to do as he had done before, all the ladies that were there,

many of whom were of kin to the suffering damsel and to the knight,

and called to mind his love and death, wept as bitterly as if 'twere

their own case.

When 'twas all over, and the lady and the knight had disappeared,

the strange scene set those that witnessed it pondering many and

divers matters : but among them all none was so appalled as the

cruel damsel that Nastagio loved, who, having clearly seen and heard

all that had passed, and being ware that it touched her more nearly

than any other by reason of the harshness that she had ever shewn to

Nastagio, seemed already to be fleeing from her angered lover, and

to have the mastiffs on her flanks. And so great was her terror that,

lest a like fate should befall her, she converted her aversion into

affection, and as soon as occasion served, which was that very night,

sent a trusty chambermaid privily to Nastagio with a request that he



NOVEL IX.

Federigo degli Alberighi loves and is not loved in return :

• he wastes his substance by lavishness until nought is

left but a single falcon^ which, his lady being come to

see him at his house, he gives her to eat : she, knowing

his case, changes her mind, takes him to husband and

makes him rich.

So ended Filomena ; and the queen, being ware that besides her-

self only Dioneo (by virtue of his privilege) w^as left to speak, said

with gladsome mien :—'Tis now for me to take up my parable ;

which, dearest ladies, I will do with a story like in some degree to

the foregoing, and' that, not only that you may know how potent are

your charms to sway the gentle heart, but that you may also learn

how upon fitting occasions to make bestowal of your guerdons of

your own accord, instead of always waiting for the guidance of

Fortune, which most times, not wisely, but without rule or measure,

scatters her gifts.

You are then to know, that Coppo di Borghese Domenichi, a

man that in our day was, and perchance still is, had in respect and

great reverence in our city, being not only by reason of his noble

lineage, but, and yet more, for manners and merit most illustrious and

worthy of eternal renown, was in his old age not seldom wont to

amuse himself by discoursing of things past with his neighbours and

other folk ; wherein he had not his match for accuracy and compass

of memory and concinnity of speech. Among other good stories, he

would ten, how that there was of yore in Florence a gallant named

Federigo di Messer Filippo Alberighi, who for feats of arms and

courtesy had not his peer in Tuscany ; who, as is the common lot of

55




gentlemen, became enamoured of a lady named Monna Giovanna,

who in her day held rank among the fairest and most elegant ladies

of Florence ; to gain whose love he jousted, tilted, gave entertain-

ments, scattered largess, and in short set no bounds to his ex-

penditure. However the lady, no less virtuous than fair, cared not

a jot for what he did for her sake, nor yet for him.

Spending thus greatly beyond his means, and making nothing,

Federigo could hardly fail to come to lack, and was at length reduced

to such poverty that he had nothing left but a little estate, on the

rents of which he lived very straitly, and a single falcon, the best in

the world. The estate was at Campi, and thither, deeming it no

longer possible for him to live in the city as he desired, he repaired,

more in love than ever before ; and there, in complete seclusion,

diverting himself with hawking, he bore his poverty as patiently as he

might.

Now, Federigo being thus reduced to extreme poverty, it so

happened that one day Monna Giovanna's husband, who was very

rich, fell ill, and, seeing that he was nearing his end, made his will,

whereby he left his estate to his son, who was now growing up, and

in the event of his death without lawful heir named Monna Giovanna,

whom he dearly loved, heir in his stead ; and having made these

dispositions he died.Monna Giovanna, being thus left a widow, did as our ladies are

wont, and repaired in the summer to one of her estates in the coun-

try which lay very near to that of Federigo. And so it befell that

the urchin began to make friends with Federigo, and to shew a

fondness for hawks and dogs, and having seen Federigo's falcon fly

not a few times, took a singular fancy to him, and greatly longed to

have him for his own, but still did not dare to ask him of Federigo,

knowing that Federigo prized him so much. So the matter stood whenby chance the boy fell sick ; whereby the mother was sore distressed, for

he was her only son, and she loved him as much as might be, inso-

much that all day long she was beside him, and ceased not to com-fort him, and again and again asked him if there were aught that he

wished for, imploring him to say the word, and, if it migjit by anymeans be had, she would assuredly do her utmost to procure it for

him. Thus repeatedly exhorted, the boy said :—*' Mother mine, do

but get me Federigo*s falcon, and I doubt not I shall soon be well.



NINTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 57

Whereupon the lady was silent a while, bethinking her what she

should do. She knew that Federigo had long loved her, and had

never had so much as a single kind look from her : wherefore she

said to herself : —HovVr can I send or go to beg of him this falcon,

which by what I hear is the best that ever flew, and moreover is his

sole comfort ? And how could I be so unfeeling as to seek to deprive

a gentleman of the one solace that is now left him ? And so, albeit

she very well knew that she might have the falcon for the asking, she

was perplexed, and knew not what to say, and gave her son no

answer. At length, however, the love she bore the boy carried the

day, and she made up her mind, for his contentment, come what might,

not to send, but to go herself and fetch him the falcon. So :

— Be ofgood cheer, my son, she said, and doubt not thou wilt soon be

well ; for I promise thee that the very first thing that I shall do to-

morrow morning will be to go and fetch thee the falcon. Whereat

the child was so pleased that he began to mend that very day.

On the morrow the lady, as if for pleasure, hied her with another

lady to Federigo's little house, and asked to see him. 'Twas still, as

for some days past, no weather for hawking, and Federigo was in his

garden, busy about some small matters which needed to be set right

there. When he heard that Monna Giovanna was at the door,

asking to see him^he was not a little surprised and pleased, and hiedhim to hysr with all speed. As soon as she saw him, she cameforward to meet him with womanly grace, and having received his

respectful salutation, said to him :— Good morrow, Federigo, and

continued : — I am come to requite thee for what thou hast lost

by loving me more than thou shouldst : which compensation is this,

that I and this lady that accompanies me will breakfast with thee

without ceremony this morning. Madam, Federigo replied

with all humility, I mind not ever to have lost aught by loving you,

but rather to have been so much profited that, if I ever deserved well

in aught, 'twas to your merit that I owed it, and to the love that I

bore you. And of a surety had I still as^much to spend as I have

spent in the past, I should not prize it so much as this visit you so

frankly pay me, come as you are to one who can aflford you but a

sorry sort* of hospitality. Which said, with some confusion, hebade her welcome to his house, and then led her into his garden,

where, having none else to present to her by way of companion, he




said :— Madam, as there is none other here, this good woman, wife

of this husbandman, will bear you company, while I go to have the

table set. Now, albeit his poverty was extreme, yet he had not

known as yet how sore was the need to which his extravagance had

reduced him; but this morning 'twas brought home to him, for that

he could find nought wherewith to do honour to the lady, for love

of whom he had done the honours of his house to men without

number : wherefore, distressed beyond measure, and inwardly cursing

his evil fortune, he sped hither and thither like on? beside himself,

but never a coin found he, nor yet aught to pledge. Meanwhile it

grew late, and sorely he longed that the lady might not leave his

house altogether unhonoured, and yet to crave help of his ownhusbandman was more than his pride could brook. In these desperate

straits his glance happened to fall on his brave falcon on his perch in

his little parlour. And so, as a last resource, he took him, and find-

ing him plump, deemed that he would make a dish meet for such a

lady. Wherefore, without thinking twice about it, he wrung the

bird's neck, and caused his maid forthwith pluck him and set him on

a spit, and roast him carefully ; and having still some spotless table-

linen, he had the table laid therewith, and with a cheerful counten-

ance hied him back to his lady in tWe garden, and told her that such

breakfast as he could give her was ready. So the lady and her com-panion rose and came to table, and there, with Federigo, who waited on

them most faithfully, ate the brave falcon, knowing not what they ate.

When they were risen from table, and had dallied a while in gay

converse with him, the lady deemed it time to tell the reason of her

visit : wherefore, graciously addressing Federigo, thus began she :

Federigo, by what thou rememberest of thy past life and my virtue,

which, perchance, thou hast deemed harshness and cruelty, I doubt

not thou must marvel at my presumption, when thou hearest the

main purpose of my visit ; but if thou hadst sons, or hadst had them, so

that thou mightest know the full force of the love that is borne them,

I should ma,ke no doubt that thou wouldst hold me in part excused.

Nor, having a son, may I, for that thou hast none, claim exemption f

from the laws to which all other mothers are subject, and, being thus

bound to own their sway, I must, though fain were I not, and

though 'tis neither meet nor right, crave of thee that which I knowthou dost of all things and with justice prize most highly, seeing



NINTH STORV.] DECAMERON. 59

that this extremity of thy adverse fortune has left thee nought else

wherewith to delight, divert and console thee; which gift is no other

than thy falcon, on which my boy has so set his heart that, if I

bring him it not, I fear lest he grow so much worse of the malady

that he has, that thereby it may come to pass that I lose him. Andso, not for the love which thou dost bear me, and which may nowise

bind thee, but for that nobleness of temper, whereof in courtesy

more conspicuously than in aught else thou hast given proof, I im-

plore thee that thou be pleased to give me the bird, that thereby

I may say that I have kept my son alive, and thus made him for

aye thy debtor.

No sooner had Federigo apprehended what the lady wanted,

than, for grief that 'twas not in his power to serve her, because he

had given her the falcon to eat, he fell a weeping in her presence,

before he could so much as utter a word. At first the lady supposed

that 'twas only because he was loath to part with the brave falcon

that he wept, and as good as made up her mind that he would refuse

her : however, she awaited with patience Federigo's answer, which

was on this wise : — Madam, since it pleased God that I should set

my affections upon you there have been matters not a few, in which

to my sorrow I have deemed Fortune adverse to me ; but they have

all been trifles in comparison of the trick that she now plays me :

the which I shall never forgive her, seeing that you are come here to

my poor house, where, while I was rich, you deigned not to come,

and ask a trifling favour of me, which she has put it out of mypower to grant : how 'tis so, I will briefly tell you. When I learned

that you, of your grace, were minded to breakfast with me, having

respect to your high dignity and desert, I deemed it due and seemly

that in your honour I should regale you, to the best of my power,

with fare of a more excellent quality than is commonly set before

others ; and, calling to mind the falcon which you now ask of me,

and his excellence, I judged him meet food for you, and so you havehad him roasted on the trencher this morning ; and well indeed I

thought I had bestowed him ; but, as now I see that you would fain

have had him in another guise, so mortified am I that I am not able

to serve you, that I doubt I shall never know peace of mind more.

In witness whereof he had the feathers and feet and beak of the

bird brought in and laid before her.



6o DECAMERON. [fifth day.

The first thing the lady did, when she had heard Federigo's

story, and seen the relics of the bird, was to chide him that he had

killed so fine a falcon to furnish a woman with a breakfast ; after

which the magnanimity of her host, which poverty had been and

was powerless to impair, elicited no small share of inward commenda-tion. Then, frustrate of her hope of possessing the falcon, and

doubting of her son's recovery, she took her leave with the heaviest

of hearts, and hied her back to the boy : who, whether for fretting,

that he might not have the falcon, or by the unaided energy of his

disorder, departed this life not many days after^to the exceeding

great grief of his mother.^ For a while she would do nought but

weep and bitterly bewail herself; but being still young, and left verywealthy, she was often urged by her brothers to marry again, and

though she would rather have not done so, yet being importuned,

and remembering Federigo's high desert, and the magnificent gener-

osity with which he had finally killed his falcon to do her honour,

she said to her brothers :— Gladly, with your consent, would I

remain a widow, but if you will not be satisfied except I take a

husband, rest assured that none other will I ever take save Federigo

degli Alberighi. Whereupon her brothers derided her, saying :

Foolish woman, what is't thou sayst ? How shouldst thou want

Federigo, who has not a thing in the world?

To whom sheanswered : — My brothers, well wot I that 'tis as you say j but I

had rather have a man without wealth than wealth without a man.

The brothers, perceiving that her mind was made up, and knowingFederigo for a good man and true, poor though he was, gave her to

him with all her wealth. And so Federigo, being mated with such

a wife, and one that he had so much loved, and being very wealthy

to boo t, lived happily, keeping more exact accounts, to the end of his

days.



NOVEL X.

Pietro di Vinciolo goes from home to sup: his wife brings

a boy into the house to bear her company : Pietro

. returns, and she hides her gallant under a hen-coop :

Pietro explains that in the house of Ercolano, with

whom he was to have supped, there was discovered ayoung man bestowed there by Ercolano's wife : the

lady thereupon censures Ercolano's wife : but un-

luckily an ass treads on the fingers of the boy that is

hidden under the hen-coop, so that he cries for pain :

Pietro runs to the place, sees him, and apprehends

the trick played on him by his wife, which neverthe-

less he finally condones, for that he is not himself free

from blame.

When the queen had done speaking, and all had praised Godthat He had worthily rewarded Federigo, Dioneo, who never waited

to be bidden, thus began : —I know not .whether I am to term it a

vice accidental and superinduced by bad habits in us mortals, or

whether it be a fault seated in nature, that we are more prone to

laugh at things dishonourable than at good deeds, and that moreespecially when they concern not ourselves. However, as the sole

scope of all my efforts has been and still shall be to dispel your

melancholy, and in lieu thereof to minister to you laughter and

jollity; therefore, enamoured my damsels, albeit the ensuing story

is not altogether free from matter that is scarce seemly, yet, as it

may afford you pleasure, I shall not fail to relate it j premonishing6i




you my hearers, that you take it with the like discretion as when,

going into your gardens, you stretch forth your delicate hands andcull the roses, leaving the thorns alone : which, being interpreted,

means that you will leave the caitiff husband to abide in sorry plight

with his dishonour, and will gaily laugh at the amorous wiles or

his wife, and commiserate her unfortunate gallant, when occasion

requires.

'Tis no great while since there dwelt at Perugia a rich mannamed Pietro di Vinciolo, who rather, perchance, to blind others and

mitigate the evil repute in which he was held by the citizens of

Perugia, than for any desire to wed, took a wife : and such being his

motive. Fortune provided him withjust such a spouse as he merited.

For the wife of his choice was a stout, red-haired young woman, and

so hot-blooded that two husbands would have been more to her mind

than one, whereas one fell to her lot that gave her only a subordinate

place in his regard. Which she perceiving, while she knew herself

to be fair and lusty, and felt herself to be gamesome and fit, waxed

very wroth, and now and again had high words with her husband,

and led but a sorry life with him at most times. Then', seeing

that thereby she was more like to fret herself than to dispose her

husband to conduct less base, she said to herself: —This poor creature

deserts me to go walk in pattens in the dry; wherefore it shall

go hard but I will bring another aboard the ship for the wet weather.

I married him, and brought him a great and goodly dowry, knowing

that he was a man, and supposing him to have the desires which menhave and ought to have ; and had I not deemed him to be a man,

I should never have married him. He knew me to be a woman :

why then took he me to wife, if women were not to his mind ?

'Tis not to be endured. Had I not been minded to live in the

world, I had become a nun ; and being minded there to live, as I

am, if I am to wait until I have pleasure or solace of him, I shall

wait perchance until I am old ; and then, too late, I shall bethink

me to my sorrow that I have wasted my youth ; and as to the wayin which I should seek its proper solace I need no better teacher and

guide than him, who finds his delight where I should find mine, and

finds it to his own condemnation, whereas in me 'twere commend-

able. 'Tis but the laws that I shall set at nought, whereas he sets

both them and Nature herself at nought.



TENTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 63

So the good lady reasoned, and peradventurc more than once

and then, casting about l iow she might privily compass her end, she

made friends with an old beldam, that shewed as a veritable Santa

Verdiana, foster-mother of vipers, who was ever to be seen going to

pardonings with a parcel of paternosters in her hand, and talked of

nothing but the lives of the holy Fathers, and the wounds of St.

Francis, and was generally reputed a saint ; to whom in due time

she opened her whole mind. My daughter, replied the beldam,

God, who knows all things, knows that thou wilt do very rightly

indeed : were it for no other reason, 'twould be meet for thee and

every other young woman so to do, that the heyday of youth be not

wasted ; for there is no grief like that of knowing that it has beenwasted. And what the devil are we women fit for when we are old

—except to pore over the cinders on the hearth ? The which if any

know, and may attest it, 'tis I, who, now that I am old, call to mindthe time that I let slip from me, not without most sore and bitter

and fruitless regret : and albeit 'twas not all wasted, for I would not

have thee think that I was entirely without sense, yet I did not

make the best use of it : whereof when I bethink me, and that I amnow, even as thou seest me, such a hag that never a spark of fire mayI hope to get from any, God knows how I rue it. Now with men'tis otherwise : they are born meet for a thousand uses, not for this

alone ; and the more part of them are of much greater consequence

in old age than in youth : but women are fit for nought but this,

and 'tis but for that they bear children that they are cherished.

Whereof, if not otherwise, thou mayst assure thyself, if thou do but

consider that we are ever ready for it j which is not the case with

men j besides which, one woman will tire out many men without

being herself tired out. Seeing then that 'tis for this we are born, I

tell thee again that thou wilt do very rightly to give thy husband thv

loaf for his cake, that in thy old age thy soul may have no cause of

complaint against thy flesh. Every one has just as much of this life

as he appropriates : and this is especially true of women, whomtherefore it behoves, much more than men, to seize the moment as

it flies : indeed, as thou mayst see for thyself, when we grow old

neither husband, nor any other man will spare us a glance j but, on

the contrary, they banish us to the kitchen, there to tell stories to the

cat, and to count the pots and pans ; or, worse, they make rhymes



64 DECAMERON. [f^ffh day.

about us: —*To the damsel dainty bits; to the beldam ague-fits;* and

such-like catches. But to make no more words about it, I tell thee

at once that there is no person in the world to whom thou couldst

open thy mind with more advantage than to me ; for there is no

gentleman so fine but I dare speak my mind to him, nor any so harsh

and forbidding but I know well how to soften him and fashion himto my will. Tell me only what thou wouIJst have, and leave the

rest to me : but one word more : I pray thee to have me in kindly

remembrance, for that I am poor ; and thou shalt henceforth go

shares with me in all my indulgences and every paternoster that I

say, that God may make thereof light and tapers for thy dead :

wherewith she ended.So the lady came to an understanding with the beldam, that, as

soon as she set eyes on a boy that often came along that street, and

of whom the lady gave her a particular description, she would knowwhat she was to do : and thereupon the lady gave her a chunk

of salt meat, and bade her God-speed. The beldam before long

smuggled into the lady's chamber the boy of whom she had spoken,

and not long after another, such being the humour of the lady, who,

standing in perpetual dread of her husband, was disposed, in this par-

ticular, to make the most of her opportunities. And one of these

days, her husband being to sup in the evening with a friend named

Ercolano, the lady bade the beldam bring her a boy as pretty and

dainty as was to be found in Perugia ; and so the beldam forthwith

did. But the lady and the boy being set at table to sup, lo, Pietro's

voice was heard at the door, bidding open to him. Whereupon the

lady gave herself up for dead ; but being fain, if she might, to screen

the boy, and knowing not where else to convey or conceal him,

bestowed him under a hen-coop that stood in a veranda hard by the

chamber in which they were supping, and threw over it a sorry

mattress that she had that day emptied of its straw ; which done she

hastened to open the door to her husband ; saying to him as he

entered : — You have gulped your supper mighty quickly to-night.

Whereto Pietro replied :— We have not so much as tasted it.

How so? enquired the lady. I will tell thee, said Pietro.

No sooner were we set at table, Ercolano, his wife, and I, than weheard a sneeze close to us, to which, though 'twas repeated, we paid

no heed j but as the sneezer continued to sneeze a third, a fourth, a




Her husband's story shewed his wife that there were other ladies

as knowing as she, albeit misfortune might sometimes overtake them ;

and gladly would she have spoken out in defence of Ercolano's wife,

but, thinking that, by censuring another's sin, she would secure morescope for her own, she launched out on this wise : — Fine doings

indeed, a right virtuous and saintly lady she must be : here is the

loyalty of an honest woman, and one to whom I had lief have con-

fessed, so spiritual I deemed her ; and the worst of it is that, being

no longer young, she sets a rare example to those that are so. Curses

on the hour that she came into the world : curses upon her that she

make not away with herself, basest, most faithless of women that she

must needs be, the reproach of her sex, the opprobrium of all theladies of this city, to cast aside all regard for her honour, her marriage

vow, her reputation before the world, and, lost to all sense of shame,

to scruple not to bring disgrace upon a man so worthy, a citizen so

honourable, a husband by whom she was so well treated, ay, and

upon herself to boot By my hope of salvation no mercy should be

shewn to such women ; they should pay the penalty with their lives;

to the fire with them while they yet live, and let them be burned to

ashes. Then, .calling to mind the lover that she had close at hand

in the hen-coop, she fell to coaxing Pietro to get him to bed, for the

hour grew late. Pietro, who was more set on eating than sleeping,

only asked whether there was aught he might have by way of supper.

*' Supper, forsooth replied the lady. Ay, of course 'tis our wayto make much of supper when thou art not at home. As if I were

Ercolano's wife 1 Now, wherefore tarry longer ? Go, get thy night's

rest : 'twere far better for thee.

Now so it was that some of Pietro's husbandmen had come to

the house that evening with divers things from the farm, and had

put up their asses in a stable that adjoined the veranda, but had

neglected to water them ; and one of the asses being exceeding

thirsty, got his head out of the halter and broke loose from the stable,

and went about nosing everything, if haply he might come by water :

whereby he came upon the hen-coop, beneath which was the boy ;

who, being constrained to stand on all fours, had the fingers of one

hand somewhat protruding from under the hen-coop ; and so as luck

or rather ill-luck would have it, the ass trod on them ; whereat, being

sorely hurt, he set up a great howling, much to the surprise of Pietro,




who perceived that 'twas within his house. So forth he came, and

hearing the boy still moaning and groaning, for the ass still kept his

hoof hard down on the fingers, called out : — Who is there ? and

ran to the hen-coop and raised it, and espied the fellow, who, besides

the pain xhat the crushing of his fingers by the ass's hoof occasioned

him, trembled in every limb for fear that Pietro should do him a

mischief. He was one that Pietro had long been after for his foul

purposes : so Pietro, recognizing him, asked him ; — What dost

thou here ? The boy making no answer, save to beseech him for

the love of God to do him no hurt, Pietro continued :— Get up,

have no fear that I shall hurt thee j but tell me : —How, and for

what cause comest thou to be here?

The boy then confessedeverything. Whereupon Pietro, as elated by the discovery as his wife

was distressed, took him by the hand ; and led him into the roomwhere the lady in the extremity of terror awaited him ; and, having

seated himself directly in front of her, said :— 'Twas but a moment

ago that thou didst curse Ercolano's wife, and averred that she ought

to be burned, and that she was the reproach of your sex : why saidst

thou not, of thyself? Or, if thou wast not minded to accuse thyself,

how hadst thou the effrontery to censure her, knowing that thou

hadst done even as she ? Verily 'twas for no other reason than that

ye areall fashioned thus, and study to cover your own misdeeds

withthe delinquencies of others : would that fire might fall from heaven

and burn you all, brood of iniquity that ye are

The lady, marking that in the first flush of his wrath he had

given her nothing worse than hard words, and discerning, as she

thought, that he was secretly overjoyed to hold so beautiful a boy by

the hand, took heart of grace and said :— I doubt not indeed that

thou wouldst be well pleased that fire should fall from heaven and

devour us all, seeing that thou art as fond of us as a dog is of the

stick, though by the Holy Rood thou wilt be disappointed ; but I

would fain have a little argument with thee, to know whereof thou

complainest. Well indeed were it with me, didst thou but place meon an equality with Ercolano's wife, who is an old sanctimonious

hypocrite, and has of him all that she wants, and is cherished by him

as a wife should be : but that is not my case. For, granted that

thou givest me garments and shoes to my mind, thou knowest howotherwise ill bested I am, and how long it is since last thou didst lie




with me ; and far liefer had I go barefoot and in rags, and have thy

benevolence abed, than have all that I have, and be treated as thoudost treat me. Understand me, Pietro, be reasonable ; consider that

I am a woman like other women, with the like craving ; whereofif thou deny me the gratification, 'tis no blame to me that I seek it

elsewhere ; and at least I do thee so much honour as not forgather

with stable-boys or scurvy knaves.

Pietro perceived that she was like to continue in this vein the

whole night : wherefore, indifferent as he was to her, he said :

Now, Madam, no more of this ; in the matter of which thou

speakest I will content thee ; but of thy great courtesy let us have

something to eat by way of supper ; for, methinks, the boy, as well

as I, has not yet supped. Ay, true enough, said the lady, he

has not supped ; for we were but just sitting down to table to sup,

when, beshrew thee, thou madest thy appearance. Go then,

said Pietro, get us some supper ; and by and by I will arrange this

affair in such a way that thou shalt have no more cause of complaint.

The lady, perceiving that her husband was now tranquil, rose, and

soon had the table laid again and spread with the supper which she

had ready ; and so they made a jolly meal of it, the caitiff husband,

the lady and the boy. What after supper Pietro devised for their

mutual satisfaction has slipped from my memory. But so much as

this I know, that on the morrow as he wended his way to the piazza,

the boy would have been puzzled to say, whether of the twain, the

wife or the husband, had had the most of his company during the

night. But this I would say to you, dear my ladies, that whosogives you tit, why, just give him tat; and if you cannot do it at

once, why, bear it in mind until you can, that even as the ass gives,

so he may receive.

Dioneo's story, whereat the ladies laughed the less for shame-

fastness rather than for disrelish, being ended, the queen, taking

note that the term of her sovereignty was come, rose to her feet,

and took off the laurel wreath and set it graciously upon Elisa's

head, saying : — Madam, 'tis now your turn to bear sway. Thedignity accepted, Elisa followed in all respects the example of her

predecessors : she first conferred with the seneschal, and directed himhow meetly to order all things during the time of her sovereignty ;

which done to the satisfaction of the company : — Ofttimes, quoth



TENTH STORV.] DECAMERON. 69

she, have we heard how with bright sallies, and ready retorts, and

sudden devices, not a few have known how to repugn with apt checks

the bites of others, or to avert imminent perils j and because 'tis an

excellent argument, and may be profitable, I ordain that to-morrow,

God helping us, the following be the rule of our discourse ; to wit,

that it be of such as by some sprightly sally have repulsed an attack,

or by some ready retort or device have avoided loss, peril or scorn.

The rule being heartily approved by all, the queen rose and dismissed

them till supper-time. So the honourable company, seeing the queen

risen, rose all likewise, and as their wont was, betook them to their

diversions as to each seemed best. But when the cicalas had hushed

their chirping, all were mustered again for supper ; and having blithely

feasted, they all addressed them to song and dance. And the queen,

while Emilia led a dance, called for a song from Dioneo, who at once

came out with :—

* Monna Aldruda, come perk up thy mood, a piece

of glad tidings I bring thee.' Whereat all the ladies fell a laughing,

and most of all the queen, who bade him give them no more of that,

but sing another. Quoth Dioneo : — Madam, had I a tabret, I

would sing: —*Up with your smock, Monna Lapa I ' or: —*Ohthe greensward under the olive

' Or perchance you had liefer I

should give you :—

' Woe is me, the wave of the sea I ' But no tabret

have I:

wherefore choose which of these others you will have.Perchance you would like : —' Now hie thee to us forth, that so it

may be cut, as May the fields about.' No, returned the queen,

give us another. Then, said Dioneo, I will sing :—'Monna

Simona, embarrel, embarrel. Why, 'tis not the month of October.' *

Now a plague upon thee, said the queen, with a laugh ; give us

a proper song, wilt thou ? for we will have none of these. Neverfear. Madam, replied Dioneo j

only say which you prefer. I have

more than a thousand songs by heart. Perhaps you would like :

*This my little covert, make I ne'er it overt'

; or :—

* Gently, gently,

husband mine'j or: —*A hundred pounds were none too high a

price for me a cock to buy.' The queen now shewed some offence,

though the other ladies laughed, and : — A truce to thy jesting,

Dioneo, said she, and give us a proper song : else thou mayst prove

the quality of my ire. Whereupon Dioneo forthwith ceased his

fooling, and sang on this wise :

^ The song is evidently amoebean.




So ravishing a light

Doth from the fair eyes of my mistress moveAs keeps me slave to her and thee, O Love.

A beam from those bright orbs did radiate

That flame that through mine own eyes to my breast

Did whilom entrance gain.

Thy majesty, O Love, thy might, how great

They be, 'twas her fair face did manifest

Whereon to brood still fain,

I felt thee take and chain

Each sense, my soul enthralling on such wise

That she alone henceforth evokesmy

sighs.

Wherefore, O dear my Lord, myself I ownThy slave, and, all obedience, wait and yearn.

Till thy might me console.

Vet wot I not if it be throughly known

How noble is the flame wherewith I burn,

My loyalty how whole

To her that doth control

Ev'n in such sort my mind that shall I none.

Nor would I, peace receive, save hers alone.

And so I pray thee, sweet my Lord, that thou

Give her to feel thy fire, and shew her plain

How grievous my disease.

This service deign to render ; for that nowThou seest me waste for love, and in the pain

Dissolve me by degrees

:

And then the apt moment seize

My cause to plead with her, as is but due

From th^fe to me, who fain with thee would sue.

When Dioneo's silence shewed that his song was ended, the

queen accorded it no stinted meed of praise ; after which she

caused not a few other songs to be sung. Thus passed some part

of the night ; and then the queen, taking note that its freshness had

vanquished the heat of the day, bade all go rest them, if they would,

till the mornine.



EnJeth here the fifth day of the Decameron^ hegmneth the

sixth, wherein, under the rule of Elisa, discourse is had

of such as by some sprightly 'sally have repulsed an

attack, or by some ready retort or device have avoided

loss, peril or scorn.

Still in mid iieaven, the moon had lost her radiance, nor was any

part of our world unillumined by the fresh splendour of the dawn,

when, the queen being risen and having mustered her company, they

hied them, gently sauntering, across the dewy mead some distance

from the beautiful hill, conversing now of this, now of the other

matter, canvassing the stories, their greater or less degree of beauty,

and laughing afresh at divers of their incidents, until, the sun being

now in his higher ascendant, they began to feel his heat, and turning

back by common consent, retraced their steps to the palace, where,

the tables being already set, and fragrant herbs and fair flowers

strewn all about, they by the queen's command, before it should

grow hotter, addressed themselves to their meal. So, having blithely

breakfasted, they first of all sang some dainty and jocund ditties, and

then, as they were severally minded, composed them to sleep or sat

them down to chess or dice, while Dioneo and Lauretta fell a singing

of Troilus and Cressida.

The hour of session being come, they took their places, at the

queen's summons, in their wonted order by the fountain ; but, whenthe queen was about to call for the first story, that happened which

had not happened before ; to wit, there being a great uproar in the

kitchen among the maids and men, the sound thereof reached the

ears of the queen and all the company. Whereupon the queen

called the seneschal and asked him who bawled so loud, and what

was the occasion of the uproar. The seneschal made answer that

7»



72 DECAMERON. [sixth day.

*twas some contention between Licisca and Tindaro ; but the occasion

he knew not, having but just come to quiet them, when he received

her summons. The queen then bade him cause Licisca and Tindaro

to come thither forthwith : so they came, and the queen enquired ot

them the cause of the uproar. Tindaro was about to make answer,

when Licisca, who was somewhat advanced in years, and disposed

to give herself airs, and heated to the strife of words, turned to Tindaro,

and scowling upon him said : — Unmannerly varlet that makest bold

to speak before me ; leave me to tell the story. Then, turning to

the queen, she said :— Madam, this fellow would fain instruct me

as to Sicofante's wife, and —neither more or less —as if I had not

known her well

—would have

mebelieve that,

thefirst

night thatSicofante lay with her, 'twas by force and not without effusion oi

blood that Master Yard made his way into Dusky Hill ; which I

deny, averring that he met with no resistance, but, on the contrary,

with a hearty welcome on the part of the garrison. And such a

numskull is he as fondly to believe that the girls are so simple as to

let slip their opportunities, while they wait on the caprice of father

or brothers, who six times out of seven delay to marry them for three

or four years after they should. Ay, ay indeed, doubtless they

were well advised to tarry so long Christ's faith I should knowthe truth of what I swear ; there is never a woman in my neighbour-

hood whose husband had her virginity j and well I know how manyand what manner of tricks our married dames play their husbands

and yet this booby would fain teach me to know women as if I were

but born yesterday.

While Licisca thus spoke, the ladies laughed till all their teeth

were ready to start from their heads. Six times at least the queen

bade her be silent : but all in vain ; she halted not till she had said

all that she had a mind to. When she had done, the queen turned

with a smile to Dioneo saying :— This is a question for thee to deal

with, Dioneo ; so hold thyself in readiness to give final judgment

upon it, when our stories are ended. Madam, replied Dioneoforthwith, I give judgment without more ado : I say that Licisca

is in the right ; I believe that 'tis even as she says, and that Tindaro

is a fool. Whereupon Licisca burst out laughing, and turning to

Tindaro : — Now did I not tell thee so ? quoth she. Begone in

God's name : dost think to know more than I, thou that art but a



SIXTH DAY.] DECAMERON. 73

sucking babe ? Thank God, I have not lived for nothing, not I.

And had not the queen sternly bade her be silent, and make no moredisturbance, unless she had a mind to be whipped, and sent both her

and Tindaro back to the kitchen, the whole day would have been

spent in nought but listening to her. So Licisca and Tindaro having

withdrawn, the queen charged Filornena to tell the first story : and

gaily thus Filornena began.



NOVEL I.

A knight offers to carry Madonna Oretta a horseback with

a story, but tells it so ill that she prays him to dis-

mount her.

As stars are set for an ornament in the serene expanse of heaven,

and likewise in springtime flowers and leafy shrubs in the green

meadows, so, damsels, in the hour of rare and excellent discourse, is

wit with its bright sallies. Which, being brief, are much more

proper for ladies than for men, seeing that prolixity of speech, where

brevity is possible, is much less allowable to them. But for whatever

cause, be it the sorry quality of our understanding, or some especial

enmity that heaven bears to our generation, few ladies or none are

left to-day that, when occasion prompts, are able to meet it with apt

speech, ay, or if aught of the kind they hear, can understand it aright

:

to our common shame be it spoken But as, touching this matter,

enough has already been said by Pampinea,^ I purpose not to enlarge

thereon ; but, that you may know what excellence resides in speech

apt for the occasion, I am minded to tell you after how courteous a

fashion a lady imposed silence upon a gentleman.

'Tis no long time since there dwelt in our city a lady, noble,

debonair and of excellent discourse, whom not a few of you may have

seen or heard of, whose name —for such high qualities merit not

oblivion —was Madonna Oretta, her husband being Messer Geri Spina.

Now this lady, happening to be, as we are, in the country, moving

from place to place for pleasure with a company of ladies and gentle-

men, whom she had entertained the day before at breakfast at her

house, and the place of their next sojourn, whither they were to go

1 Cf. First Day, Novel X.

74




afoot, being some consicJerable distance off, one of the gentlemen of

the company said to her : — Madonna Oretta, so please you, I will

carry you great part of the way a horseback with one of the finest

stories in the world. Indeed, Sir, replied the lady, I pray you

do so J and I shall deem it the greatest of favours. Whereupon the

gentleman, who perhaps was no better master of his weapon than of

his story, began a tale, which in itself was indeed excellent, but which,

by repeating the same word three, four or six times, and now and

again harking back, and saying :— I said not well ; and erring

not seldom in the names, setting one in place of another, he utterly

spoiled ; besides which, his mode of delivery accorded very ill with

the character of the persons and incidents : insomuch that MadonnaOretta, as she listened, did oft sweat, and was like to faint, as if she

were ill and at the point of death. And being at length able to bear

no more of it, witting that the gentleman had got into a mess and

was not like to get out of it, she said pleasantly to him : — Sir, this

horse of yours trots too hard ; I pray you be pleased to set me down.The gentleman, being perchance more quick of apprehension than

he was skilful in narration, missed not the meaning of her sally, and

took it in all good and gay humour. So, leaving unfinished the tale

which he had begun, and so mishandled, he addressed himself to tell

her other stories.



NOVEL II.

Cisti, a baker, by an apt speech gives Messer Gen Spina

to know that he has by inadvertence asked that of him

which he should not.

All the ladies and the men alike having greatly commendedMadonna Oretta's apt saying, the queen bade Pampinea follow suit,

and thus she began :

Fair ladies, I cannot myself determine whether Nature or Fortune

be the more at fault, the one in furnishing a noble soul with a vile

body, or the other in allotting a base occupation to a body endowed

with a noble soul, whereof we may have seen an example, amongothers, in our fellow-citizen, Cisti ; whom, furnished though he was

with a most lofty soul. Fortune made a baker. And verily I should

curse Nature and Fortune alike, did I not know that Nature is most

discreet, and that Fortune, albeit the foolish imagine her blind, has

a thousand eyes. For 'tis, I suppose, that, being wise above a little,

they do as mortals ofttimes do, who, being uncertain as to their

future, provide against contingencies by burying their most precious

treasures in the basest places in their houses, as being the least likely

to be suspected ; whence, in the hour of their greatest need, they

bring them forth, the base place having kept them more safe than

the dainty chamber would have done. And so these two arbitresses

of the world not seldom hide their most precious commodities in the

obscurity of the crafts that are reputed most base, that thence being

brought to light they may shine with a brighter splendour. Whereof

how in a trifling matter Cisti, the baker, gave proof, restoring the

eyes of the mind to Messer Geri Spina, whom the story of his wife,

Madonna Oretta, has brought to my recollection, I am minded to

•shew you in a narrative which shall be of the briefest.

76




I say then that Pope Boniface, with whom Mcsser Geri Spina

stood very high in favour and honour, having sent divers of his

courtiers to Florence as ambassadors to treat of certain matters of great

moment, and they being lodged in Messer Geri's house, where he

treated with them of the said affairs of the Pope, 'twas, for somereason or another, the wont of Messer Geri and the ambassadors of

the Pope to pass almost every morning by Santa Maria Ughi, where

Cisti, the baker, had his bakehouse, and plied his craft in person.

Now, albeit Fortune had allotted him a very humble occupation, she

had nevertheless prospered him therein to such a degree that he was

grown most wealthy, and without ever aspiring to change it for

another, lived in most magnificent style, having among his other goodthings a cellar of the best wines, white and red, that were to be found

in Florence, or the country parts ; and marking Messer Geri and the

ambassadors of the Pope pass every morning by his door, he bethought

him that, as 'twas very hot, 'twould be a very courteous thing to give

them to drink of his good wine ; but comparing his rank with that

of Messer Geri, he deemed it unseemly to presume to invite him,

and cast about how he might lead Messer Geri to invite himself.

So, wearing always the whitest of doublet^ and a spotless apron, that

denoted rather the miller than the baker, he let bring, every morning

about the hour that he expected Messer Geri and the ambassadors topass by his door, a spick-and-span bucket of fresh and cool spring

water, and a small Bolognese flagon of his good white wine, and twobeakers that shone like silver, so bright were they : and there downhe sat him, as they came by, and after hawking once or twice, fell a

drinking his wine with such gusto that 'twould have raised a thirst

in a corpse. Which Messer Geri having observed on two successive

mornings, said on the third :— What is't, Cisti ? Is't good ?

Whereupon Cisti jumped up, and answered :— Ay, Sir, good it is ;

but in what degree I might by no means make you understand, unless

you tasted it. Messer Geri, in whom either the heat of the weather,

or unwonted fatigue, or, perchance, the gusto with which he had

seen Cisti drink, had bred a thirst, turned to the ambassadors and

said with a smile :— Gentlemen, 'twere well to test the quality of

this worthy man's wine : it may be such that we shall not repent

us. And so in a body they came up to where Cisti stood j who,

having caused a goodly bench to be brought out of the bakehouse,



yS DECAMERON. [sixth day.

bade them be seated, and to their servants, who were now coming

forward to wash the beakers, said :

— Stand back, comrades, andleave this office to me, for I know as well how to serve wine as to

bake bread ; and expect not to taste a drop yourselves. Which said,

he washed four fine new beakers with his own hands, and having

sent for a small flagon of his good wine, he heedfuUy filled the

beakers,. and presented them to Messer Geri and his companions;

who deemed the wine the best that they had drunk for a great while.

So Messer Geri, having praised the wine not a little, came there to

drink every morning with the ambassadors as long as they tarried

with him.

Now whenthe ambassadors had received their conge^ and were

about to depart, Messer Geri gave a grand banquet, to which he bade

some of the most honourable of the citizens, and also Cisti, who could

by no means be induced to come. However, Messer Geri bade one

of his servants go fetch a flask of Cisti's wine, and serve half a beaker

thereof to each guest at the first course. The servant, somewhatoffended, perhaps, that he had not been suffered to taste any of the

wine, took with him a large flask, which Cisti no sooner saw, than :

Son, quoth he, Messer Geri does not send thee to me : and

often as the servant affirmed that he did, he could get no other answer:

wherewith he was fain at last to return to Messer Geri. Go, get

thee back, said Messer Geri, and tell him that I do send thee

to him, and if he answers thee so again, ask him, to whom then

I send thee. So the servant came back, and said: — Cisti, Messer

Geri does, for sure, send me to thee. Son, answered Cisti, Messer

Geri does, for sure, not send thee to me. To whom then, said

the servant, does he send me ? To Arno, returned Cisti.

Which being reported by the servant to Messer Geri, the eyes of

his mind were straightway opened, and: — Let me see, quoth he

to the servant, what flask it is thou takest there. And when he

had seen it: — Cisti says sooth, he added; and having sharply

chidden him, he caused him take with him a suitable flask, whichwhen Cisti saw : —*' Now know I, quoth he, that 'tis indeed Messer

Geri that sends thee to me, and blithely filled it. And having

replenished the rundlet that same day with wine of the same quality,

he had it carried with due care to Messer Geri's house, and followed

after himself; where finding Messer Geri he said: — I would not




have you think, Sir, that I was appalled by the great flask your servant

brought me this morning; 'twas but that I thought you had forgotten

that which by my little beakers I gave you to understand, when you

were with me of late; to wit, that this is no table wine; and so

wished this morning to refresh your memory. Now, however, being

minded to keep the wine no longer, I have sent you all I have of it,

to be henceforth entirely at your disposal. Messer Geri set great

store by Cisti's gift, and thanked him accordingly, and ever mademuch of him and entreated him as his friend.



NOVEL III.

Monna Noma de* Pulci by a ready retort silences the

scarce: seemly jesting of the Bishop of Florence.

Pampinea's story ended, and praise not a little bestowed on Cisti

alike for his apt speech and for his handsome present, the queen was

pleased to call forthwith for a story from Lauretta, who blithely thus

began :

Debonair my ladies, the excellency of wit, and our lack thereof,

have been noted with no small truth first by Pampinea and after her

by Filomena. To which topic 'twere bootless to return : wherefore

to that which has been said touching the nature of wit I purpose but

to add one word, to remind you that its bite should be as a sheep's

bite and not as a dog's; for if it bite like a dog, 'tis no' longer wit

but discourtesy. With which maxim the words of Madonna Oretta,

and the apt reply of Cisti, accorded excellently. True indeed it is

that if 'tis by way of retort, and one that has received a dog's bite

gives the biter a like bite in return, it does not seem to be repre-

hensible, as otherwise it would have been. Wherefore one must

consider how and when and on whom and likewise where one

exercises one's wit. By ill observing which matters one of our prelates

did once upon a time receive no less shrewd a bite than he gave ; as

I will shew you in a short story.

While Messer Antonio d'Orso, a prelate both worthy and wise,

was Bishop of Florence, there came thither a Catalan gentleman,Messer Dego della Ratta by name, being King Ruberto's marshal.

Now Dego being very goodly of person, and inordinately fond or

women, it so befell that of the ladies of Florence she that he regarded

with especial favour was the very beautiful niece of a brother of the

said bishop. And having learned that her husband, though of goodgo



THIRD STORY.] DECAMERON. 8i

family, was but a caitift, and avaricious in the last degree, he struck

a bargain with him that he should lie one night with the lady for

five hundred florins of gold: whereupon he had the same number of

popolins^ of silver, which were then current, gilded, and having lain

with the lady, albei t against her will, gave them to her husband.

Which coming to be generally known, the caitiff husband was left

with the loss and the laugh against him; and the bishop, like a wise

man, feigned to know nought of the affliir. And so the bishop and

the marshal being much together, it befell that on St. John's day, as

they rode side by side down the street whence they start to run the

palio,2 and took note of the ladies, the bishop espied a young gentle-

woman, whom this present pestilence has reft from us, Mpnna Nonnade* Pulci by name, a cousin of Messer Alesso Rinucci, whom you all

must know ; whom, for that she was lusty and fair, and of excellent

discourse and a good courage, and but just settled with her husband

in Porta San Piero, the bishop presented to the marshal; and then,

being close beside her, he laid his hand on the marshal's shoulder and

said to her: — Nonna, what thinkest thou of this gentleman ? Thatthou mightst make a conquest of him ? Which words the lady

resented as a jibe at her honour, and like to tarnish it in the eyes

of those, who were not a few, in v/hose hearing they were spoken.

Wherefore without bestowing a thought upon the vindication ofher

honour, but being minded to return blow for blow, she retorted

hastily: —'* Perchance, Sir, he might not make a conquest of me;but if he did so, I should want good money. The answer stung

both the marshal and the bishop to the quick, the one as contriver

of the scurvy trick played upon the bishop's brother in regard of his

niece, the other as thereby outraged in the person of his brother's

niece; insomuch that they dared not look one another in the face,

but took themselves off in shame and silence, and said never a wordmore to her that day.

In such a case, then, the lady having received a bite, 'twas allow-

able in her wittily to return it.

1 A coin of the same size and design as the fiorino d'oro, but worth only

two soldi.

^ A sort of horse-race still in vogue at Siena.

VOL. II.



FOURTH STORV.] DECAMERON. 83

and seeing the bird, began coaxing Chichibio to give her a thigh.

By way of answer Chichibio fell a singing: — You get it not from

me, Madam Brunetta, you get it not from me.'* Whereat MadamBrunetta was offended, and said to him: — By God, if thou givest

it me not, thou shalt never have aught from me to pleasure thee.

In short there was not a little altercation; and in the end Chichibio,

fain not to vex his mistress, cut off one of the crane's thighs, andgave it to her. So the bird was set before Currado and some strangers

that he had at table with him, and Currado, observing that it had but

one thigh, was surprised, and sent for Chichibio, and demanded of

him what was become of the missing thigh. Whereto the mendacious

Venetian answered readily :

— The crane. Sir, has but one thigh andone leg. What the devil ? rejoined Currado in a rage: so the

crane has but one thigh and one leg ? thinkst thou I never saw crane

before this ? But Chichibio continued :— 'Tis even so as I say,

Sir; and, so please you, I will shew you that so it is in the living

bird. Currado had too much respect for his guests to pursue the

topic; he only said: — Since thou promisest to shew me in the

living bird what I have never seen or heard tell of, I bid thee do so

to-morrow, and I shall be satisfied, but if thou fail, I swear to thee

by the body of Christ that I will serve thee so that thou shalt ruefully

remember my name for the rest of thy days.No more was said of the matter that evening, but on the morrow,

at daybreak, Currado, who had by no means slept off his wrath, got

up still swelling therewith, and ordered his horses, mounted Chichibio

on a hackney, and saying to him : — We shall soon see which of us

lied yesternight, thou or I, set off^ with him for a place where there

was much water, beside which there were always cranes to be seen

about dawn. Chichibio, observing that Currado's ire was unabated,

and knowing not how to bolster up his lie, rode by Currado's side

in a state of the utmost trepidation, and would gladly, had he been

able, have taken to flight; but, as he might not, he glanced, nowahead, now aback, now aside, and saw everywhere nought but cranes

standing on two feet. However, as they approached the river, the

very first thing they saw upon the bank was a round dozen of cranes

standing each and all on one foot, as is their wont, when asleep.

Which Chichibio presently pointed out to Currado, saying : — Nowmay you see well enough. Sir, that 'tis true as I said yesternight, that




the crane has but one thigh and one leg; mark but how they stand

over there. Whereupon Currado: — Wait, quoth he, and I

will shew thee that they have each thighs and legs twain. So,

having drawn a little nigher to them, he ejaculated, Oho Whichcaused the cranes to bring each the other foot to the ground, and,

after hopping a step or two, to take to flight. Currado then turned

to Chichibio, saying: — How now, rogue? art satisfied that the

bird has thighs and legs twain ? Whereto Chichibio, all but beside

himself with fear, made answer: — Ay, Sir; but you cried not,

oho to our crane of yestereve: had you done so, it would have

popped its other thigh and foot forth, as these have done. Which

answer Currado so much relished, that, all his wrath changed to jollity

and laughter: — Chichibio, quoth he, thou art right, indeed I

ought to have so done.

Thus did Chichibio by his ready and jocund retort arrest impending

evil, and make his peace with his master.



NOVEL V.

Messer Forese da Rabatta and Master Giotto^ the painter^

journeying together from Mugello^ deride one another's

scurvy appearance,

Neifile being silent, and the ladies having made very merry overChichibio's retort, Pamfilo at the queen's command thus spoke :

Dearest ladies, if Fortune, as Pampinea has shewn us, does sometimes

hide treasures most rich of native worth in the obscurity of base

occupations, so in like manner 'tis not seldom found that Nature has

enshrined prodigies of wit in the most ignoble of human forms.

Whereof a notable example is afforded by two of our citizens, of

whom I purpose for a brief while to discourse. The one, Messer

Forese da Rabatta by name, was short and deformed of person and

withal flat-cheeked and flat-nosed, insomuch that never a Baroncio *

had a visage so misshapen but his would haveshewed as hideous

beside it; yet so conversant was this man with the laws, that by not

a few of those well able to form an Qjjipion he was reputed a veritable

storehouse of civil jurisprudence. I The other, whose name wasGiotto, was of so excellent a wit ni^t, let Nature, mother of all,

operant ever by continual revolution of the heavens, fashion what she

would, he with his style and pen and pencil would depict its like onsuch wise that it shewed not as its like, but rather as the thing itself,

insomuch that the visual sense of men did often err in regard thereof,

mistaking for real that which was but painted. Wherefore, having

brought back to light that art which had for many ages lain buried

beneath the blunders of those who painted rather to delight the eyes

of the ignorant than to satisfy the intelligence of the wise, he maydeservedly be called one of the lights that compose the glory of

* The name of a Florentine family famous for the extraordinary ugiinest

of its men : whereby it came to pass that any grotesque or extremely uglyman was called a Baroncio. Fanfani, Vocab. dclla Lingua Italiana^ 1 89 1.

85




Florence, and the more so, the more lowly was the spirit in which he

won that glory, who, albeit he was, while he yet lived, the master of

others, yet did ever refuse to be called their master. And this title

that he rejected adorned him with a lustre the more splendid in pro-

portion to the avidity with which it was usurped by those who were

less knowing tiian he, or were his pupils. But for all the exceeding

greatness of his art, yet in no particular had he the advantage of

Messer Forese either in form or in feature. But to come to the story:

—'Twas in Mugello that Messer Porese, as likewise Giotto, had his

country-seat, whence returning from a sojourn that he had made there

during the summer vacation of the courts, and being, as it chanced,

mounted on a poor jade of a draught horse, he fell in with the saidGiotto, who was also on his way back to Florence after a like sojourn

on his own estate, and was neither better mounted, nor in any other

wise better equipped, than Messer Forese. And so, being both old

men, they jogged on together at a slow . pace : and being surprised

by a sudden shower, such as we frequently see fall in summer, they

presently sought shelter in the hou§e of a husbandman that was

known to each of them, and was their friend. But after a while, as

the rain gave no sign of ceasing, and they had a mind to be at

Florence that same day, they borrowed of the husbandman two old

cloaks of Romagnole cloth, and two hats much the worse for age

(there being no better to be had), and resumed their journey.

Whereon they had not proceeded far, when, taking note that they

were soaked through and through, and liberally splashed with the

mud cast up by their nags' hooves (circumstances which are not of a

kind to add to one's dignity), they, after long silence, the sky begin-

ning to brighten a little, began to converse. And Messer Forese, as

he rode and hearkened to Giotto, v/ho was an excellent talker, sur-

veyed him sideways, and from head to foot, and all over, and seeing

him in all points in so sorry and scurvy a trim, and recking nought

of his own appearance, broke into a laugh and said : — Giotto,

would e'er a stranger that met us, and had not seen thee before,

believe, thinkst thou, that thou wert, as thou art, the greatest painter

in the world. Whereto Giotto answered promptly :— Methinks,

Sir, he might, if, scanning you, he gave you credit for knowing the

A B C. Which hearing, Messer Forese recognized his error, and

perceived that he had gotten as good as he brought.



NOVEL VI.

Michele Scalza proves to certain young men that the

Baronet are the best gentlemen in the world and the

Maremma^ and wins a supper.

The ladies were still laughing over Giotto's ready retort, whenthe queen charged Fiammetta to follow suit ; wherefore thus

Fiammetta began : —Pamfilo's mention of the Baronci, who to you,

Damsels, are perchance not so well known as to hini, has brought to

my mind a story in which 'tis shewn how great is their nobility;

and, for that it involves no deviation from our rule of discourse, I amminded to tell it you.

'Tis no long time since there dwelt in our city a young man,

Michele Scalza by name, the pleasantest and merriest fellow in the

world, and the best furnished with quaint stories : for which reasonthe Florentine youth set great store on having him with them whenthey forgathered in company. Now it so befell that one day, he

being with a party of them at Mont' Ughi, they fell a disputing

together on this wise ; to wit, who were the best gentlemen and of

the longest descent in Florence. One said, the Uberti, another, the

Lamberti, or some other family, according to the predilection of the

speaker. Whereat Scalza began to smile, and said : —*' Now out

upon you, out upon you, blockheads that ye are : ye know not what

ye say. The best gentlemen arid of longest descent in all the world

and the Maremma (let alone Florence) are the Baronci by the

common consent of all phisopholers,^ and all that know them as I

do ; and lest you should otherwise conceive me, I say that 'tis of

your neighbours the Baronci * of Santa Maria Maggiore that I speak.

^ In the Italian ^o/b/f . an evidently intentional distortion,

^ Villani, Istorie Fiorent'ine, iv. cap. ix., and Dante, Paradisoy xvi. 104,spell the name Barucci.

87




Whereupon the young men, who had looked for somewhat else from

him, said derisively : — Thou dost but jest with usj as if we did not

know the Baronci as well as thou Quoth Scalza : — By the Gospels

I jest not, but speak sooth ; and if there is any of you will wager a

supper to be given to the winner and six good fellows whom he

shall choose, I will gladly do the like, and —what is more —I will

abide by the decision of such one of you as you may choose. Thensaid one of them whose name was Neri Mannini : — I am ready to

adventure this supper;

and so they agreed together that Piero di

Fiorentino, in whose house they were, should be judge, and hied them

to him followed by all the rest, eager to see Scalza lose, and triumph

in his discomfiture, and told Piero all that had been said. Piero, whowas a young man of sound sense, heard what Neri had to say ; and

then turning to Scalza :— And how, quoth he, mayst thou make

good what thou averrest ? I will demonstrate it, returned

Scalza, by reasoning so cogent that not only you, but he that denies

it shall acknowledge that I say sooth. You know, and so they were

saying but now, that the longer men's descent, the better is their

gentility, and I say that the Baronci are of longer descent, and thus

better gentlemen than any other men. If, then, I prove to you that

they are of longer descent than any other men, without a doubt the

victory in this dispute will rest with me. Now you must know that

when God made the Baronci, He was but a novice in His art, of

which, when He made the rest of mankind, He was already master.

And to assure yourself that herein I say sooth, you have but to con-

sider the Baronci, how they differ from the rest of mankind, who all

have faces well composed and duly proportioned, whereas of the

Baronci you will see one with a face very long and narrow, another

with a face inordinately broad, one with a very long nose, another

with a short one, one with a protruding and upturned chin, and

great jaws like an ass's ; and again there will be one that has one eye

larger than its fellow, or set on a lower plane ; so that their faces

resemble those that children make when they begin to learn to draw.

Whereby, as I said, 'tis plainly manifest that, when God made them,

He was but novice in His art j and so they are of longer descent

than the rest of mankind, and by consequence better gentlemen.

By which entertaining argument Piero, the judge, and Neri who had

wagered the supper, and all the rest, calling to mind the Baronci's



SIXTH 8T0RY.] DECAMERON. 89

ugliness, were so tickled, that they fell a laughing, and averred that

Scalza was in the right, and that he had won the wager, and that

without a doubt the Baronci were the best gentlemen, and of the

longest descent, not merely jn Florence, but in the world and the

Maremma to boot. Wherefore 'twas not without reason that

Pamfilo, being minded to declare Messer Forese's ill-favouredness,

said that he would have been hideous beside a Baroncio.



NOVEL VIL

Madonna Filippa, being found by her husband with her

lover, is cited before the court, and by a ready andjocund answer acquits herself and brings about an

alteration of the statute.

FiAMMETTA had been silent some time, but Scalza*s novel argu-

ment to prove the pre-eminent nobility of the Baronci kept all still

laughing, v^hen the queen called for a story from Filostrato, w^ho

thus began : —Noble ladies, an excellent thing is apt speech on all

occasions, but to be proficient therein I deem then most excellent

when the occasion does most imperatively demand it. As w^as the

case with a gentlewoman, of whom I purpose to speak to you, whonot only ministered gaiety and merriment to her hearers, but

extricated herself, as you shall hear, from the toils of an ignominious

death.

There was aforetime in the city of Prato a statute no less censur-

able than harsh, which, making no distinction between the wife

whom her husband took in adultery with her lover, and the womanfound pleasuring a stranger for money, condemned both alike to be

burned. While this statute was in force, it befell that a gentle-

woman, fair and beyond measure enamoured. Madonna Filippa by

name, was by her husband, Rinaldo de' Pugliesi, found in her ownchamber one night in the arms of Lazzarino de' Guazzagliotri, a

handsome young noble of the same city, whom she loved even as

herself. Whereat Rinaldo, very wroth, scarce refrained from falling

upon them and killing them on the spot ; and indeed, but that he

doubted how he should afterwards fare himself, he had given way to

the vehemence of his anger, and so done. Nor, though he so far

go




mastered himself, could he forbear recourse to the statute, thereby

to compass that which he might not otherwise lawfully compass, to

wit, the death of his lady. Wherefore, having all the evidence

needful to prove her guilt, he took no further counsel ; but, as soon

as 'twas day, he charged the lady and had her summoned. Like

most ladies that are veritably enamoured, the lady was of a high

courage ; and, though not a few of her friends and kinsfolk sought

to dissuade her, she resolved to appear to the summons, having liefer

die bravely confessing the truth than basely flee and for defiance of

the law live in exile, and shew herself unworthy of such a lover as

had had her in his arms that night. And so, attended by many ladies

and gentlemen, who all exhorted her to deny the charge, she camebefore the Podesta, and with a composed air and unfaltering voice

asked whereof he would interrogate her. The Podesta, surveying her,

and taking note of her extraordinary beauty, and exquisite manners,

and the high courage that her words evinced, was touched with com-passion for her, fearing she might make some admission, by reason

whereof, to save his honour, he must needs do her to death. Butstill, as he could not refrain from examining her of that which was

laid to her charge, he said : — Madam, here, as you see, is your

husband, Rinaldo, who prefers a charge against you, alleging that he

has taken you in adultery, and so he demands that, pursuant to astatute which is in force here, I punish you with death : but this I

may not do, except you confess; wherefore be very careful what you

answer, and tell me if what your husband alleges against you be true.

The lady, no wise dismayed, and in a tone not a little jocund, thus

made answer :— True it is, Sir, that Rinaldo is my husband, and

that last night he found me in the arms of Lazzarino, in whose arms

for the whole-hearted love that I bear him I have ofttimes lain ; nor

shall I ever deny it ; but, as well I wot you know, the laws ought

to be common and enacted with the common consent of all that they

affectJ

which conditions are wanting to this law, inasmuch as it

binds only us poor women, in whom to be liberal is much less repre-

hensible than it were in men ; and furthermore the consent of no

woman was —I say not had, but —so much as asked before 'twas

made ; for which reasons it justly deserves to be called a bad law.

However, if in scathe of my body and your own soul, you are

minded to put it in force, 'tis your affair ; but, I pray you, go not




on to try this matter in any wise, until you have granted me this

trifling grace, to wit, to ask my husband if I ever gainsaid him, but

did not rather accord him, when and so often as he craved it, com-

plete enjoyment of myself. Whereto Rinaldo, without awaiting

the Podes«:i'6 question, forthwith answered, that assuredly the lady

had ever granted him all that he had asked of her for his gratification.

Then, promptly continued the lady, if he has ever had of me as

much as sufficed for his solace, what was I or am I to do with the

surplus ? Am I to cast it to the dogs ? Is it not much better to

bestow it on a gentleman that loves me more dearly than himself,

than to suffer it to come to nought or worse ? Which jocund

question being heard by well-nigh all the folk of Prato, who hadflocked thither all agog to see a dame so fair and of such quality on

her trial for such an offence, they laughed loud and long, and then

all with one accord, and as with one voice, exclaimed that the lady

was in the right and said well ; nor left they the court until in

concert with the Podesta they had so altered the harsh statute as that

thenceforth only such women as should wrong their husbands for

money should be within its purview.

Wherefore Rinaldo left the court, discomfited of his foolish

enterprise ; and the lady blithe and free, as if rendered back to life

from the burning, went home triumphant.



NOVEL VIII.

Fresco admonishes his niece not to look at herself in the

glass, if'tis, as she says, grievous to her to see nasty

folk.

'TwAS not at first without some flutterings of shame, evinced by

the modest blush mantling on their cheeks, that the ladies heard

Filostrato's story ; but afterwards, exchanging glances, they could

scarce forbear to laugh, and hearkened tittering. However, whenhe had done, the queen turning to Emilia bade her follow suit.

Whereupon Emilia, fetching a deep breath as if she were roused

from sleep, thus began : —Loving ladies, brooding thought has kept

myspirit for so long time remote from here that perchance I may make

a shift to satisfy our queen with a much shorter story than would

have been forthcoming but for my absence of mind, wherein I

purpose to tell you how a young woman's folly was corrected by her

uncle with a pleasant jest, had she but had the sense to apprehend it.

My story, then, is of one, Fresco da Celatico by name, that had a

niece, Ciesca, as she was playfully called, who, being fair of lace and

person, albeit she had none of those angelical charms that we oft-

times see, had so superlative a conceit of herself, that she had con-

tracted a habit of disparaging both men and women and all that she

saw, entirely regardless of her own defects, though for odiousness, tire-

someness, and petulance she had not her match among women,insomuch that there was nought that could be done to her mind :

besides which, such was her pride that had she been of the blood royal

of France, 'twould have been inordinate. And when she walked

abroad, so fastidious was her humour, she was ever averting her

head, as if there was never a soul she saw or met but reeked with a

93




foul smell. Now one day —not to speak of other odious and tire-

some ways that she had —it so befell that being come home, where

Fresco was, she sat herself down beside him with a most languishing

air, and did nought but fume and chafe. Whereupon : — Ciesca,

quoth he, what means this, that, though 'tis a feast-day, yet thou

art come back so soon ? She, all but dissolved with her vapourish

humours, made answer :— Why, the truth is, that I am come back

early because never, I believe, were there such odious and tiresome

men and women in this city as there are to-day. I cannot pass a

soul in the street that I loathe not like ill-luck; and I believe there is

not a woman in the world that is so distressed by the sight of odious

people as I am ; and so I am come home thus soon to avoid the sight

of them. Whereupon Fresco, to whom his niece's bad manners

were distasteful in the extreme: — Daughter, quoth he, if thou

loathe odious folk as much as thou sayest, thou wert best, so thou

wouldst live happy, never to look at thyself in the glass. But she,

empty as a reed, albeit in her own conceit a match for Solomon in

wisdom, was as far as any sheep from apprehending the true sense of

her uncle's jest j but answered that on the contrary she was minded

to look at herself in the glass like other women. And so she

remained, and yet remains, hidebound in her folly.



NOVEL IX.

Guido Cavalcantt by a quip meetly rebukes certain

Florentine gentlemen who had taken him at a dis-

advantage.

The queen, perceiving that Emilia had finished her story,

and that none but she, and he who had the privilege of speaking last,

now remained to tell, began on this wise ; —Albeit, debonair myladies, you have forestalled me to-day of more than two of the stories,

of which I had thought to tell one, yet one is still left me to recount,

which carries at the close of it a quip of such a sort, that perhaps wehave as yet heard nought so pregnant.

You are to know, then, that in former times there obtained in

our city customs excellent and commendable not a few, whereof to-

day not one is left to us, thanks to the greed which, growing with

the wealth of our folk, has banished them all from among us. Oneof which customs was that in divers quarters of Florence the gentle-

men that there resided would assemble together in companies of a

limited number, taking care to include therein only such as mightconveniently bear the expenses, and to-day one, another to-morrow,

each in his turn for a day, would entertain the rest of the company j

and so they would not seldom do honour to gentlemen from distant

parts when they visited the city, and also to their fellow-citizens

and in like manner they would meet together at least once a year all

in the same trim, and on the most notable days would ride together

through the city, and now and again they would tilt together, moreespecially on the greater feasts, or when the city was rejoiced bytidings of victory or some other glad event. Among which com-panies was one of which Messer Betto Brunelleschi was the leading

spirit, into which Messer Betto and his comrades had striven hard

95




to bring Guido, son of Cavalcante de' Cavalcanti, and not without

reason, inasmuch as, besides being one of the best logicians in the

world, and an excellent natural philosopher (qualities of which the

company made no great account), he was without a peer for gallantry

and courtesy and excellence of discourse and aptitude for all matters

which he might set his mind to, and that belonged to a gentle-

man ; and therewithal he was very rich, and, when he deemed

any worthy of honour, knew how to bestow it to the uttermost.

But, as Messer Betto had never been able to gain him over, he

and his comrades supposed that 'twas because Guido, being addicted

to speculation, was thereby estranged from men. And, for that he

was somewhat inclined to the opinion of the Epicureans, the vulgaraverred that these speculations of his had no other scope than to

prove that God did not exist. Now one day it so befell that, Guidobeing come, as was not seldom his wont, from Or San Michele by

the Corso degli Adimari as far as San Giovanni, around which were

then the great tombs of marble that are to-day in Santa Reparata,

besides other tombs not a few, and Guido being between the columns

of porphyry, that are there, and the tombs and the door of San

Giovanni, which was locked, Messer Betto and his company cameriding on to the piazza of Santa Reparata, and seeing him among the

tombs, said :— Go we and flout him. So they set spurs to their

horses, and making a mock onset, were upon him almost before he

saw them. Whereupon : — Guido, they began, thou wilt be

none of our company ; but, lo now, when thou hast proved that

God does not exist, what wilt thou have achieved ? Guido, seeing

that he was surrounded, presently answered : — Gentlemen, you

may say to me what you please in your own house. Thereupon he

laid his hand on one of the great tombs, and being very nimble,

vaulted over it, and so evaded them, and went his way, while they

remained gazing in one another's faces, and some said that he had

taken leave of his wits, and that his answer was but nought, seeing

that the ground on which they stood was common to them with the

rest of the citizens, and among them Guido himself. But Messer

Betto, turning to them :— Nay but, quoth he, 'tis ye that have

taken leave of your wits, if ye have not understood him j for meetly

and in few words he has given us never so shrewd a reprimand;

seeing that, if you consider it well, these tombs are the houses of the



MiNTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 97

dead, that are laid and tarry therein ; which he calls our house, to

shew us that we, and all other simple, unlettered men, are, in com-parison of him and the rest of the learned, in sorrier case than dead

men, and so being here, we are in our own house. Then none was

there but understood Guido's meaning and was abashed, insomuch

that they flouted him no more, and thenceforth reputed Messer Betto

u gentleman of a subtle and discerning wit.

VCL. II.



NOVEL X.

Fra Cipolla promises to shew certain country-folk a

feather of the Angel Gabriel^ in lieu of which he

finds coals ^ which he avers to he of those with whichSt. Lawrence was roasted.

All the company save Dioneo being delivered of their several

stories, he wist that 'twas his turn to speak. Wherefore, without

awaiting any very express command, he enjoined silence on those

that were commending Guide's pithy quip, and thus began : —Sweet

my ladies, albeit 'tis my privilege to speak of what likes me most, I

purpose not to-day to deviate from that theme whereon you have all

discoursed most appositely ; but, following in your footsteps, I am

minded to shew you with what adroitness and readiness of resourceone of the Friars of St. Antony avoided a pickle that two young menhad in readiness for him. Nor, if, in order to do the story full justice,

I be somewhat prolix of speech, should it be burdensome to you, if

you will but glance at the sun, which is yet in mid-heaven.

Certaldo, as perchance you may have heard, is a town of Val

d'Elsa within our country-side, which, small though it is, had in it

aforetime people of rank and wealth. Thither, for that there he

found good pasture, 'twas long the wont of one of the Friars of St.

Antony to resort once every year, to collect the alms that fools gave

them. Fra Cipolla ^ —so hight the friar —met with a hearty welcome,

no less, perchance, by reason of his name than for other cause, the

onions produced in that district being famous throughout Tuscany.

He was little of person, red-haired, joUy-visaged, and the very best

of good fellows ; and therewithal, though learning he had none, he

^ Onion.

98




was so excellent and ready a speaker that whoso knew him not would

not only have esteemed him a great rhetorician, but would have

pronounced him TuUy himself or, perchance, Quintilian j and in all

the country-side there was scarce a soul to whom he was not either

gossip or friend or lover. Being thus wont from time to time to

visit Certaldo, the friar came there once upon a time in the monthof August, and on a Sunday morning, all the good folk of the

neighbouring farms being come to mass in the parish church, he took

occasion to come forward and say: — Ladies and gentlemen, youwot 'tis your custom to send year by year to the poor of BaronMaster St. Antony somewhat of your wheat and oats, more or less,

according to the ability and the devoutness of each, that blessed St.

Antony may save your oxen and asses and pigs and sheep from harm j

and you are also accustomed, and especially those whose names are

on the books of our confraternity, to pay your trifling annual dues.

To collect which offerings, I am hither sent by my superior, to wit,

Master Abbot ; wherefore, with the blessing of God, after none,

when you hear the bells ring, you will come out of the church to

the place where in the usual way I shall deliver you my sermon, and

you will kiss the cross j and therewithal, knowing, as I do, that youare one and all most devoted to Baron Master St. Antony, I will by

way of especial grace shew you a most holy and goodly relic,which

I brought myself from the Holy Land overseas, which is none other

than one of the feathers of the Angel Gabriel, which he left behind

him in the room of the Virgin Mary, when he came to make her

the annunciation in Nazareth. And having said thus much, heceased, and went on with the mass. Now among the many that

were in the church, while Fra Cipolla made this speech, were twovery wily young wags, the one Giovanni del Bragoniera by name,

the other Biagio Pizzini ; who, albeit they were on the best of

terms with Fra Cipolla and much in his company, had a sly laugh

together over the relic, and resolved to make game of him and his

feather. So, having learned that Fra Cipolla was to breakfast that

morning in the town with one of his friends, as soon as they knewthat he was at table, down they hied them into the street, and to the

inn where the friar lodged, having complotted that Biagio should

keep the friar's servant in play, while Giovanni made search amongthe friar's goods and chattels for this feather, whatever it might be.




to carry it off, that they might see how the friar would afterwards

explain the matter to the people. Now Fra CipoUa had for servant

one Guccioji whom some called by way of addition Balena,2 others

Imbratta,^ others again Porco,* and who was such a rascallion that

sure it is that Lippo Topo^ himself never painted his like. Con-cerning whom Fra Cipolla would ofttimes make merry with his

familiars, saying: — My servant has nine qualities, any one of

which in Solomon, Aristotle, or Seneca, would have been enough to

spoil all their virtue, wisdom and holiness. Consider, then, whatsort of a man he must be that has these nine qualities, and yet never

a spark of either virtue or wisdom or holiness. And being asked

upon divers occasions what these nine qualities might be, he strungthem together in rhyme, and answered : — I will tell you. Lazyand uncleanly and a liar he is, Negligent, disobedient and foul-

mouthed, iwis, And reckless and witless and mannerless : and there-

withal he has some other petty vices, which 'twere best to pass over.

And the most amusing thing about him is, that, wherever he goes, he

is for taking a wife and renting a house, and on the strength of a big,

black, greasy beard he deems himself so very handsome a fellow and

seductive, that he takes all the women that see him to be in love

with him, and, if he were left alone, he would slip his girdle and run

after them all. True it is that he is of great use to me, for that,

be any minded to speak with me never so secretly, he must still have

his share of the audience ; and, if perchance aught is demanded of

me, such is his fear lest I should be at a loss what answer to make,

that he presently replies, ay or no, as he deems meet.

Now, when he left this knave at the inn, Fra Cipolla had strictly

enjoined him on no account to suffer any one to touch aught of his,

and least of all his wallet, because it contained the holy things.

But Guccio Imbratta, who was fonder of the kitchen than any

nightingale of the green boughs, and most particularly if he espied

there a maid, and in the host's kitchen had caught sight of a coarse

fat woman, short and misshapen, with a pair of breasts that shewed

as two buckets of muck and a face that might have belonged to one

of the Baronci, all reeking with sweat and grease and smoke, left

Fra Cipolla's room and all his things to take care of themselves, and

1 Diminutive of Arriguccio. ^ Whale. ^ Filth.

* Hog. ^ The works of this painter seem to be lost.



TENTH sTORv.] DECAMERON. 10 r

like a vulture swooping down upon the carrion, was in the kitchen

in a trice. Where, though 'twas August, he sat him down by the

fire, and fell a gossiping with Nuta —such was the maid's nameand told her that he was a gentleman by procuration,^ and had more

florins than could be reckoned, besides those that he had to give

away, which were rather more than less, and that he could do and

say such things as never were or might be seen or heard forever, good

Lord and a day. And all heedless of his cowl, which had as muchgrease upon it as would have furnished forth the caldron of Altopascio,^

and of his rent and patched doublet, inlaid with filth about the neck

and under the armpits, and so stained that it shewed hues more

various than ever did silk from Tartary or the Indies, and of his

shoes that were all to pieces, and of his hose that were all in tatters,

he told her in a tone that would have become the Sieur de Chitillon,

that he was minded to rehabit her and put her in trim, and raise her

from her abject condition, and place her where, though she would

not have much to call her own, at any rate she would have hope of

better things, with much more to the like effect ; which professions,

though made with every appearance of good will, proved, like most

of his schemes, insubstantial as air, and came to nothing.

Finding Guccio Porco thus occupied with Nuta, the two youngmen gleefully accounted their work half done, and, none gainsaying

them, entered Fra CipoUa's room, which was open, and lit at once

upon the wallet, in which was the feather. The wallet opened, they

found, wrapt up in many folds of taiFeta, a little casket, on opening

which they discovered one of the tail-feathers of a parrot, which they

deemed must be that which the friar had promised to shew the good

folk of Certaldo. And in sooth he might well have so imposed upon

them, for in those days the luxuries of Egypt had scarce been

introduced into Tuscany, though they have since been brought over

in prodigious abundance, to the grave hurt of all Italy. And though

some conversance with them there was, yet in those parts folk knewnext to nothing of them ; but, adhering to the honest, simple ways of

their forefathers, had not seen, nay for the most part had not so muchas heard tell of, a parrot.

So the young men, having found the feather, took it out with

• ^ One of the humorous ineptitudes of which Boccaccio is fond.

2 An abbey near Lucca famous for its doles of broth.




great glee ; and looking around for something to replace it, they

espied in a corner of the room some pieces of coal, wherewith they

filled the casket j which they then closed, and having set the roomin order exactly as they had found it, they quitted it unperceived,

and hied them merrily ofF with the feather, and posted themselves

where they might hear what Fra CipoUa would say when he found

the coals in its stead. Mass said, the simple folk that were in the

church went home with the tidings that the feather of the Angel

Gabriel was to be seen after none ; and this goodman telling his

neighbour, and that goodwife her gossip, by the time every one had

breakfasted, the town could scarce hold the multitude of men and

women that flocked thither all agog to see this feather.Fra CipoUa, having made a hearty breakfast and had a little nap,

got up shortly after none, and marking the great concourse of

country-folk that were come to see the feather, sent word to Guccio

Imbratta to go up there with the bells, and bring with him the

wallet. Guccio, though 'twas with difficulty that he tore himself

away from the kitchen and Nuta, hied him up with the things

required ; and though, when he got up, he was winded, for he was

corpulent with drinking nought but water, he did Fra Cipolla's

bidding by going to the church door and ringing the bells amain.

When all the people were gathered about the door, Fra Cipolla, all

unwitting that aught of his was missing, began his sermon, and after

much said in glorification of himself, caused the confiteor to be recited

with great solemnity, and two torches to be lit by way of preliminary

to the shewing of the feather of the Angel Gabriel : he then bared

his head, carefully unfolded the taffeta, and took out the casket,

which, after a few prefatory words in praise and laudation of the

Angel Gabriel and his relic, he opened. When he saw that it con-

tained nought but coals, he did not suspect Guccio Balena of playing

the trick, for he knew that he was not clever enough, nor did he

curse him, that his carelessness had allowed another to play it, but he

inly imprecated himself, that he had committed his things to the

keeping of one whom he knew to be negligent and disobedient,

reckless and witless. Nevertheless, he changed not colour, but

with face and hands upturned to heaven, he said in a voice that all

might hear : — O God, blessed be Thy might for ever and ever.

Then, closing the casket, and turning to the people : — Ladies and




gentlemen, he said, you are to know, that when I was yet a very

young man, I was sent by my superior into those parts where the

sun rises, and I was expressly bidden to search until I should find

the Privileges of Porcellana, which, though they cost nothing to seal,

are of much more use to others than to us. On which errand I set

forth, taking my departure from Venice, and traversing the Borgo

de' Greci,* and thence on horseback the realm of Algarve,^ and so by

Baldacca ^ I came to Parione,* whence, somewhat athirst, I after a

while got on to Sardinia.' But wherefore go I about to enumerate

all the lands in which I pursued my quest ? Having passed the

straits of San Giorgio, I arrived at Truffia® and Buffia,^ countries

thickly populated and with great nations, whence I pursued myjourney to Menzogna,^ where I met with many of our own brethren,

and of other religious not a few, intent one and all on eschewing

hardship for the love of God, making little account of others' toil, so

they might ensue their own advantage, and paying in nought but un-

minted coin^ throughout the length and breadth of the country;

and so I came to the land of Abruzzi, where the men and womengo in pattens on the mountains, and clothe the hogs with their ownentrails ; ^^ and a little further on I found folk that carried bread in

staves and wine in sacks.^^ And leaving them, I arrived at the

^ Perhaps part of the sesto *' of Florence known as the Borgo, as the

tradition of the commentators that the friar's itinerary is wholly Florentine

is not to be lightly set aside.

2 // Garbo, a quarter or street in Florence, doubtless so called because

the wares of Algarve were there sold. Rer. Ital. Script. (Muratori : Suppl.

Tartini) ii. 119. Villani, Istorie Fioreniine, iv. 12, xii. 18.

^ A famous tavern in Florence. Florio, Vocab. Ital. e Ingl.y ed Tor-

riano, 1659.* A borgo in Florence. Villani, Istorie Ftorent'tnet iv. 7.

5 A suburb of Florence on the Arno, ib. ix. 256.

* The land of Cajolery. ^ The land of Drollery.

8 The land of Lies.

* /. e. i n fal se promises : suggested by Dante's Pagando di moneta senza

conio. Parad. xxix. 126.

^^ A reference to sausage-making.

11 /. e, cakes fashioned in a hollow ring, and wines in leathern bottles.



104 DECAMERON, [sixth day.

mountains of the Bachi,^ where all the waters run downwards. In

short I penetrated so far that I came at last to India Pastinaca,^ whereI swear to you by the habit that I wear, that I saw pruning-hooks ^

fly : a thing that none would believe that had not seen it^ Whereof

be my witness that I lie not Maso del Saggio, that great merchant,

whom I found there cracking nuts, and selling the shells by retail

However, not being able to find that whereof I was in quest, because

from thence one must travel by water, I turned back, and so cameat length to the Holy Land, where in summer cold bread costs four

deniers, and hot bread is to be had for nothing. And there I found

the venerable father Nonmiblasmetesevoipiace,* the most worshipful

Patriarch of Jerusalem ; who out of respect for the habit that I haveever worn, to wit, that of Baron Master St. Antony, was pleased to

let me see all the holy relics that he had by him, which were so

many, that, were I to enumerate them all, I should not come to the

end of them in some miles. However, not to disappoint you, I will

tell you a few of them. In the first place, then, he shewed me the

finger of the Holy Spirit, as whole and entire as it ever was, and the

tuft of the Seraph that appeared to St. PVancis, and one of the nails

of the Cherubim, and one of the ribs of the Verbum Caro hie thee

to the casement,^ and some of the vestments of the Holy Catholic

Faith, and some of the rays of the star that appeared to the Magi in

the East, and. a phial of the sweat of St. Michael a battling with the

Devil and the jaws of death of St. Lazarus, and other relics. Andfor that I gave him a liberal supply of the acclivities*' of MonteMorello in the vulgar and some chapters of Caprezio, of which he

had long been in quest, he was pleased to let me participate in his

holy relics, and gave me one of the teeth of the Holy Cross, and in

a small phial a bit of the sound of the bells of Solomon's temple, and

1 Grubs.

2 In allusion to the shapeless fish, so called, whi:h was proverbially taken

as a type of the outlandish.

8 A jeu de mots, pennati, pruning-hooks, signifying also feathered,

though pennuti is more common in that sense.

* Takemenottotaskanitlikeyou.

5 fatti allejinestre, a subterfuge for factum est.

6 p'tagge, jocularly for pagine : doubtless some mighty tome of school

divinity is meant.




this feather of the Angel Gabriel, whereof I have told you, and one

of the pattens of San Glierardo da Villa Magna, which, not long ago,

I gave at Florence to Gherardo di Bonsi, who holds him in prodigious

veneration. He also gave me some of the coals with which the

most blessed martyr, St. Lawrence, was roasted. All which things

I devoutly brought thence, and have them all safe. True it is that

my superior has not hitherto permitted me to shew them, until he

should be certified that they are genuine. However, now that this

is avouched by certain miracles wrought by them, of which we have

tidings by letter from the Patriarch, he has given me leave to shewthem. But, fearing to trust them to another, I always carry them

with me ; and to tell you the truth I carry the feather of the AngelGabriel, lest it should get spoiled, in a casket, and the coals, with

which St. Lawrence was roasted, in another casket ; which caskets

are so like the one to the other, that not seldom I mistake one for

the other, which has befallen me on this occasion ; for, whereas I

thought to have brought with me the casket wherein is the feather,

I have brought instead that which contains the coals. Nor deem 1

this a mischance; nay, methinks, 'tis by interposition of God, andthat He Himself put the casket of coals in my hand, for I mind methat the feast of St. Lawrence falls but two days hence. Wherefore

God, being minded that by shewing you the coals, with which he

was roasted, I should rekindle in your souls the devotion that youought to feel towards him, guided my hand, not to the feather whichI meant to take, but to the blessed coals that were extinguished by

the humours that exuded from that most holy body. And so,

blessed children, bare your heads and devoutly draw nigh to see

them. But first of all I would have you know, that whoso has the

sign of the cross made upon him with these coals, may live secure for

the whole of the ensuing year, that fire shall not touch him, that he

feel it not. »

Having so said, the friar, chanting a hymn in praise of St.

Lawrence, opened the casket, and shewed the coals. Whereon the

foolish crowd gazed a while in awe and reverent wonder, and then

came pressing forward in a mighty throng about Fra Cipolla with

offerings beyond their wont, each and all praying him to touch them

with the coals. Wherefore Fra Cipolla took the coals in his hand,

and set about making on their white blouses, and on their doublets,



io6 DECAMERON. [sixth day.

and on the veils of the women crosses as big as might be, averring

the while that whatever the coals might thus lose would be madegood to them again in the casket, as he had often proved. On this

wise, to his exceeding great profit, he marked all the folk of Certaldo

with the cross, and, thanks to his ready wit and resource, had his

laugh at those, who by robbing him of the feather thought to make

a laughing-stock of him. They, indeed, being among his hearers,

and marking his novel expedient, and how voluble he was, and what

a long story he made of it, laughed till they thought their jaws

would break ; and, when the congregation was dispersed, they went

up to him, and never so merrily told him what they had done, and

returned him his feather ; which next year proved no less lucrativeto him than that day the coals had been.

Immense was the delight and diversion which this story afforded

to all the company alike, and great and general was the laughter over

Fra Cipolla, and more especially at his pilgrimage, and the relics, as

well those that he had but seen as those that he had brought back

with him. Which being ended, the queen, taking note that there-

with the close of her sovereignty was come, stood up, took ofF the

crown, and set it on Dioneo's head, saying with a laugh : — 'Tis

time, Dioneo, that thou prove the weight of the burden of having

ladies to govern and guide. Be thou king then j and let thy rule

be such that, when 'tis ended, we may have cause to commend it.

Dioneo took the crown, and laughingly answered :— Kings worthier

far than I you may well have seen many a time ere now- —I speak

of the kings in chess ; but let me have of you that obedience which

is due to a true king, and of a surety I will give you to taste of that

solace, without which perfection of joy there may not be in any

festivity. But enough of this : I will govern as best I may. Then,as was the wont, he sent for the seneschal, and gave hirri particular

instruction how to order matters during the term of his sovereignty j

whicli done, he said : — Noble ladies, such and so diverse has been

our discourse of the ways of men and their various fortunes, that

but for the visit that we had a while ago from Madam Licisca, whoby what she said has furnished me with matter of discourse for

to-morrow, I doubt I had been not a little put to it to find a theme.

You heard how she said that there was not a woman in her neigh-

bourhood whose husband had her virginity j adding that well she knew

I




how many and what manner of tricks they, after marriage, played

their husbands. The first count we may well leave to the girls

whom it concerns ; the second, methinlcs, should prove a diverting

topic : wherefore I ordain that, talcing our cue from Madam Licisca,

we discourse to-morrow of the tricks that, either for love or for their

deliverance from peril, ladies have heretofore played their husbands,

and whether they were by the said husbands detected or no. Todiscourse of such a topic some of the ladies deemed unmeet for them,

and besought the king to find another theme. But the king madeanswer :

— Ladies, what manner of theme I have prescribed I knowas well as you, nor was I to be diverted from prescribing it by that

which you now think to declare unto me, for I wot the times are

such that, so only men and women have a care to do nought that is

unseemly, 'tis allowable to them to discourse of what they please.

For in sooth, as you must know, so out of joint are the times that

the judges have deserted the judgment-seat, the laws are silent, and

ample licence to preserve his life as best he may is accorded to each

and all. Wherefore, if you are somewhat less strict of speech than is

your wont, not that aught unseemly in act may follow, but that you

may afford solace to yourselves and others, I see not how you can be

open to reasonable censure on the part of any. Furthermort, nought

that has been said from the first day to the present moment has,methinks, in any degree sullied the immaculate honour of your

company, nor, God helping us, shall aught ever sully it. Besides,

who is there that knows not the quality of your honour ? whichwere proof, I make no doubt, against not only the seductive in-

fluence of diverting discourse, but even the terror of death. And,to tell you the truth, whoso wist that you refused to discourse of

these light matters for a while, would be apt to suspect that 'twas

but for that you had yourselves erred in like sort. And truly a

goodly honour would you confer upon me, obedient as I have ever

been to you, if after making me your king and your lawgiver, youwere to refuse to discourse of the theme which I prescribe. Away,then, with this scruple fitter for low minds than yours, and let each

study how she may give us a goodly story, and Fortune prosper her

therein.

So spake the king, and the ladies, hearkening, said that, even as

he would, so it should be : whereupon he gave all leave to do as they



io8 DECAMERON. [sixth day.

might be severally minded until the supper-hour. The sun was still

quite high in the heaven, for they had not enlarged in their dis-

course : wherefore, Dioneo with the other gallants being set to play

at dice, Elisa called the other ladies apart, and said :— There is a

nook hard by this place, where I think none of you has ever been :

'tis called the Ladies' Vale : whither, ever since we have been here,

I have desired to take you, but time meet I have not found until to-

day, when the sun is still so high : if, then, you are minded to visit

it, I have no manner of doubt that, when you are there, you will be

very glad you came. The ladies answered that they were ready,

and so, saying nought to the young men, they summoned one of

their maids, and set forth ; nor had they gone much more than amile, when they arrived at the Vale of Ladies'. They entered it by

a very strait gorge, through which there issued a rivulet, clear as

crystal, and a sight, than which nought more fair and pleasant,

especially at that time when the heat was great, could be imagined,

met their eyes. Within the valley, as one of them afterwards told

me, was a plain about half-a-mile in circumference, and so exactly

circular that it might have been fashioned according to the compass,

though it seemed a work of Nature's art, not man's : 'twas girdled

about by six hills of no great height, each crowned with a palace

that shewed as a goodly little castle.

Theslopes of the hills were

graduated from summit to base after the manner of the successive

tiers, ever abridging their circle, that we see in our theatres j and as

many as fronted the southern rays were all planted so close with

vines, olives, almond-trees, cherry-trees, fig-trees and other fruit-

bearing trees not a few, that there was not a hand's-breadth of

vacant space. Those that fronted the north were in like mannercovered with copses of oak saplings, ashes and other trees, as green

and straight as might be. Besides which, the plain, which was shut

in on all sides save that on which the ladies had entered, was full of

firs, cypresses, and bay-trees, with here and there a pine, in order

and symmetry so meet and excellent as had they been planted by an

artist, the best that might be found in that kind ; wherethrough,

even when the sun was in the zenith, scarce a ray of light might

reach the ground, which was all one lawn of the finest turf, pranked

with the hyacinth and divers other flowers. Add to which —nor wasthere aught there more delightsome —a rivulet that, issuing from one



no DECAMERON. [sixth day.

replied Dioneo, *' 'tis with you do first and say after ? Ay, mylord, returned Pampinea, and told him at large whence they came,

and what the place was like, and how far 'twas ofF, and what they

had done. What she said of the beauty of the spot begat in the king

a desire to see it : wherefore he straightway ordered supper, whereof

when all had gaily partaken, the three gallants parted from the ladies

and hied them with their servants to the vale, where none of them

had ever been before, and, having marked all its beauties, extolled it

as scarce to be matched in all the world. Then, as the hour was

very late, they did but bathe, and as soon as they had resumed their

clothes, returned to the ladies, whom they found dancing a carol to

an air that Fiammetta sang, which done, they conversed of theLadies' Vale, waxing eloquent in praise thereof : insomuch that the

king called the seneschal, and bade him have some beds made ready

and carried thither on the morrow, that any that were so minded

might there take their siesta. He then had lights and wine and

comfits brought -, and when they had taken a slight refection, he

bade all address them to the dance. So at his behest Pamfilo led a

dance, and then the king, turning with gracious mien to Elisa :

Fair damsel, quoth he, 'twas thou to-day didst me this honour

of the crown j and 'tis my will that thine to-night be the honour or

the song ; wherefore sing us whatsoever thou hast most lief.

That gladly will I, replied Elisa smiling ; and thus with dulcet

voice began :

If of thy talons, Love, be quit I may,

1 deem it scarce can be

But other fangs I may elude for aye.

Service I took with thee, a tender maid,

In thy war thinking perfect peace to find,

And all my arms upon the ground I laid.

Yielding myself to thee with trustful mind

:

Thou, harpy-tyrant, whom no faith may bind,

Eftsoons didst swoop on me,

And with thy cruel claws mad'st me thy prey.

Then thy poor captive, bound with many a chain.

Thou tookst, and gav'st to him, whom fate did call

Hither my death to be ; for that in pain



TENTH STORY.] DECAMERON. Ill

And bitter tears I waste nway, his thrall

:

Nor heave I e'er a sigh, or tear let fall,

So harsh a lord is he.

That him inclines a jot my grief to allay.

My prayers upon the idle air are spent

He hears not, will not hear ; wherefore in vain

The more each hour my soul doth her torment;

Nor may I die, albeit to die were gain.

Ah Lord, have pity of my bitter pain

Help have I none but thee

Then take and bind and at my feet him lay.

But if thou wilt not, do my soul but loose

From hope, that her still binds with triple chain.

Sure, O my Lord, this prayer thou'lt not refuse:

The which so thou to grant me do but deign,

I look my wonted beauty to regain.

And banish misery

With roses white and red bedecked and gay.

So with a most piteous sigh ended Elisa her song, whereat all

wondered exceedingly, nor might any conjecture wherefore she so

sang. But theking,

who wasin

a jolly humour, sent for Tindaro,and bade him out with his cornemuse, and caused them tread many a

measure thereto, until, no small part of the night being thus spent,

he gave leave to all to betake them to rest.



Endeth here the sixth day of the Decameron, heginneth the

seventh, in which, under the rule of Dioneo, discourse

is had of the tricks which, either for love or for their

deliverance from peril , ladies have heretofore played

their husbands, and whether they were by the said

husbands detected, or no.

Fled was now each star from the eastern sky, save only that

which we call Lucifer, which still glowed in the whitening dawn,

when uprose the seneschal, and with a goodly baggage-train hied

him to the Ladies' Vale, there to make all things ready according

to the ordinance and commandment of the king. Nor was it long

after his departure that the king rose, being awaked by the stir and

bustle that the servants made in lading the horses, and being risen

he likewise roused all the ladies and the other gallants j and so, whenas yet 'twas scarce clear daybreak, they all took the road ; nor

seemed it to them that the nightingales and the other birds had ever

chanted so blithely as that morning. By which choir they were

attended to the Ladies' Vale, where they were greeted by other

warblers not a few, that seemed rejoiced at their arrival. Roving

about the vale, and surveying its beauties afresh, they rated them

higher than on the previous day, as indeed the hour was more apt to

shew them forth. Then with good wine and comfits they broke

their fast, and, that they might not lag behind the songsters, they fell

a singing, whereto the vale responded, ever echoing their strains ; nordid the birds, as minded not to be beaten, fail to swell the chorus

with notes of unwonted sweetness. However, breakfast-time came,

and then, the tables being laid under a living canopy of trees, and

beside other goodly trees that fringed the little lake, they sat themdown in order as to the king seemed meet. So they took their meal,

112



SEVENTH DAY.] DECAMERON. 113

glancing from time to time at the lake, where the fish darted to and

fro in multitudinous shoals, which afforded not only delight to their

eyes but matter for converse. Breakfast ended, and the tables

removed, they fell a singing again more blithely than before. After

which, there being set, in divers places about the little vale, beds

which thp: discreet seneschal had duly furnished and equipped within

and without with store of French coverlets, and other bedgear, all,

that were so minded, had leave of the king to go to sleep, and those

that cared not to sleep might betake them, as each might choose, to

any of their wonted diversions. But, all at length being risen, and

the time for addressing them to the story-telling being come, the

king had carpets spread on the sward no great way from the placewhere they had breakfasted ; and, all having sat them down beside

the lake, he bade Emilia begin j which, blithe and smiling, Emilia

did on this wise.

VOL. ir.



NOVEL I.

Gianni Lottermght hears a knocking at his door at night

he awakens his wife, who persuaaes him that *tis the

bogey, which they fall to exorcising with a prayer

whereupon the knocking ceases^

My lord, glad indeed had I been, that, saving your good pleasure,

some other than I had had precedence of discourse upon so goodly

a theme as this of which we are to speak : I doubt I am but chosen

to teach others confidence ; but, such being your will, I will gladly

obey it. And my endeavour shall be , dearest ladies, to tell you some-

what that may be serviceable to you in the future : for, if you are, as

I am, timorous, and that most especially of the bogey, which, Godwot, I know not what manner of thing it may be, nor yet havefound any that knew, albeit we are all alike afraid of it, you maylearn from this my story how to put it to flight, should it intrude

upon you, with a holy, salutary and most efficacious orison.

There dwelt of yore at Florence, in the quarter of San Pancrazio,

a master-spinner, Gianni Lotteringhi by name, one that had prospered

in his business, but had little understanding of aught else ; insomuchthat being somewhat of a simpleton, he had many a time been

chosen leader of the band of laud-singers of Santa Maria Novella,

and had charge of their school ; and not a few like offices had he

oftenserved,

upon which he greatly plumed himself. Howbeit,'twas all for no other reason than that, being a man of substance, hegave liberal doles to the friars ; who, for that they got thereof, this

one hose, another a cloak, and a third a hood, would teach him goodorisons, or give him the paternoster in the vernacular, or the chant

of St. Alexis, or the lament of St. Bernard, or the laud of Lady114




Matilda, or the like sorry stuff, which he greatly prized, and guarded

with jealous care, deeming them all most conducive to the salvation

of his soul.

Now our simple master-spinner had a most beautiful wife, and

amorous withal, her name Monna Tessa. Daughter she was of

Mannuccio dalla Cuculla, and not a little knowing and keen-witted

and being enamoured of Federigo di Neri Pegolotti, a handsome and

lusty gallant, as he also of her, she, knowing her husband's simplicity,

took counsel with her maid, and arranged that Federigo should cometo chat with her at a right goodly pleasure-house that the said Gianni

had at Camerata, where she was wont to pass the summer, Gianni

coming now and again to sup and sleep, and going back in the morn-ing to his shop, or, maybe, to his laud-singers. Federigo, whodesired nothing better, went up there punctually on the appointed

day about vespers, and as the evening passed without Gianni making

his appearance, did most comfortably, and to his no small satisfaction,

sup and sleep with the lady, who lying m his arms taught him that

night some six of her husband's lauds. But, as neither she nor

Federigo was minded that this beginning should also be the end of

their intercourse, and that it might not be needful for the maid to

go each time to make the assignation with him, they came to the

following understanding ; to wit, that as often ashe came and went

between the house and an estate that he had a little higher up, he

should keep an eye on a vineyard that was beside the house, where he

would see an ass's head stuck on one of the poles of the vineyard, and

as often as he observed the muzzle turned towards Florence, he

might visit her without any sort of misgiving ; and if he found

not the door open, he was to tap it thrice, and she would open

it ; and when he saw the muzzle of the ass's head turned towards

Fiesole, he was to keep away, for then Gianni would be there.

Following which plan, they forgathered not seldom : but on one of

these evenings, when Federigo was to sup with Monna Tessa on

two fat capons that she had boiled, it so chanced that Gianni

arrived there unexpectedly and very late, much to the lady's chagrin :

so she had a little salt meat boiled apart, on which she supped with

her husband ; and the maid by her orders carried the two boiled

capons laid in a spotless napkin with plenty of fresh eggs and a

bottle of good wine into the garden, to which there was access



ii6 DECAMERON. [seventh day.

otherwise than from the house, and where she was wont at times to

sup with Federigo ; and there the maid set them down at the foot

of a peach-tree, that grew beside a lawn. But in her vexation she

forgot to tell the maid to wait till Federigo should come, and let himknow that Gianni was there, and he must take his supper in the

garden : and she and Gianni and the maid were scarce gone to bed,

when Federigo came and tapped once at the door, which being hard

by the bedroom, Gianni heard the tap, as did also the lady, albeit,

that Gianni might have no reason to suspect her, she feigned to be

asleep. Federigo waited a little, and then gave a second tap

whereupon, wondering what it might mean, Gianni nudged his

wife, saying :

— Tessa, dost hear what I hear ? Methinks some onehas tapped at our door. The lady, who had heard the noise muchbetter than he, feigned to wake up, and :

— How ? what sayst

thou ? quoth she. I say, replied Gianni, that, meseems,

some one has tapped at our door. Tapped at it? quoth the

lady. Alas, my Gianni, wottest thou not what that is ? 'Tis the

bogey, which for some nights past has so terrified me as never was,

insomuch that I never hear it but I pop my head under the clothes

and venture not to put it out again until 'tis broad day. *' Come,come, wife, quoth Gianni, if such it is, be not alarmed ; for

before we got into bed I repeated the Te luch^ the Intemerata, and

divers other good orisons, besides which I made the sign of the cross

in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit at each corner of

the bed ; wherefore we need have no fear that it may avail to hurt

us, whatever be its power. The lady, lest Federigo, perchance

suspecting a rival, should take offence, resolved to get up, and let himunderstand that Gianni was there : so she said to her husband :

Well, well ; so sayst thou ; but I for my part shall never deemmyself safe and secure, unless we exorcise it, seeing that thou art

here. Oh said Gianni, and how does one exorcise it ?

That, quoth the lady, I know right well ; for t'other day, whenI went to Fiesole for the pardoning, one of those anchoresses, the

saintliest creature, my Gianni, God be my witness, knowing howmuch afraid I am of the bogey, taught me a holy and salutary

orison, which she said she had tried many a time before she was

turned anchoress, and always with success. God wot, I should never

have had courage to try it alone j but as thou art here, I propose that




we go exorcise it together. Gianni made answer that he was quite

of the same mind j so up they got, and stole to the door, on the

outside of which Federigo, now suspicious, was still waiting. And

as soon as they were there : — Now, quoth the lady to Gianni,

thou wilt spit, when I tell thee. Good, said Gianni. Where-

upon the lady began her orison, saying ;

** Bogey, bogey that goest by night,

Tail erect, thou cani'st, tail erect, take thy flight

Hie thee to the garden, and the great peach before,

Grease tipon grease, and droppings five score •

Of my hen shalt thou find

Set the flask thy lips to,

Then away like the wind,

And no scathe unto me or my Gianni do.

And when she had done : — Now, Gianni, quoth she, spit : and

Gianni spat.

There was no more room for jealousy in Federigo's mind as he

heard all this from without ; nay, for all his disappointment, he was

like to burst with suppressed laughter, and when Gianni spat, he

muttered imder his breath :—*' Now out with thy teeth. The lady,

having after this fashion thrice exorcised the bogey, went back to

bed with her husband. Federigo, disappointed of the supper that he

was to have had with her, and apprehending the words of the orison

aright, hied him to the garden, and having found the two capons

and the wine and the eggs at the foot of the peach-tree, took them

home with him, and supped very comfortably. And many a hearty

laugh had he and the lady over the exorcism during their subsequent

intercourse.

Now, true it is that some say that the lady had in fact turned the

ass's head towards Fiesole, but that a husbandman, passing through

the vineyard, had given _ it a blow with his stick, whereby it had

swung round, and remairied fronting Florence, and so it was that

Federigo thought that he was invited, and came to the house, and

that the lady's orison was on this wise :

Bogey, a God's name, away thee hie,

For whoe'er turned the ass's head, 'twas not I

Another it was, foul fall his eyne

And here am I with Gianni mine.



ii8 DECAMERON. [seventh day.

Wherefore Federigo was fein to take himself ofF, having neither

slept nor supped.

But a neighbour of mine, a lady well advanced in years, tells methat, by what she hsard when she was a girl, both stories are true ;

but that the latter concerned not Gianni Lotteringhi but one Gianni

di Nello, that lived at Porta San Piero, and was no less a numskull

than Gianni Lotteringhi. Wherefore, dear my ladies, you are at

liberty to choose which exorcism you prefer, or take both if you like.

They are both of extraordinary and approved virtue in such cases,

as you have heard : get them by heart, therefore, and they may yet

stand you in good stead.



NOVEL II.

Her husband returning home^ Peronella bestows her lover

in a tun ; which, being sold by her husband, she avers

to have been already sold by herself to one that is

inside examining it to see if it be sound. Whereupon

the lover jumps out, and causes the husband to scour

the tun for him, and afterwards to carry it to his

house.

Great indeed was the laughter with which Emilia's story was

received ; which being ended, and her orison commended by all as

good and salutary, the king bade Filostrato follow suit ; and thus

Filostrato began :

—Dearest my ladies, so many are the tricks thatmen play you, and most of all your husbands, that, when from time

to time it so befalls that some lady plays her husband a trick, the

circumstance, whether it come within your own cognizance or be

told you by another, should not only give you joy but should incite

you to publish it on all hands, that men may be ware, that, knowing

as they are, their ladies also, on their part, know somewhat : which

cannot but be serviceable to you, for that one does not rashly essay

to take another with guile whom one wots not to lack that quality.

Can we doubt, then, that, should but the converse that we shall hold

to-day touchingthis

matter come to be bruited among men,'twould

serve to put a most notable check upon the tricks they play you, by

doing them to wit of the tricks, which you, in like manner, whenyou are so minded, may play them ? Wherefore 'tis my intention to

tell you in what manner a young girl, albeit she was but of low rank^

did, on the spur of the moment, beguile her husband to her owndeliverance.

119



120 DECAMERON. [seventh day.

'Tis no long time since at Naples a poor man, a mason by craft,

took to wife a fair and amorous maiden —Peronella was her name

who eked out by spinning what her husband made by his craft j and

so the pair managed as best they might on very slender means. Andas chance would have it, one of the gallants of the city, taking note

of this Peronella one day, and being mightily pleased with her, fell in

love with her, and by this means and that so prevailed that he wonher to accord him her intimacy. Their times of forgathering they

concerted as follows : —to wit, that, her husband being wont to rise

betimes of a morning to go to work or seek for work, the gallant

was to be where he might see him go forth, and, the street where she

dwelt, which is called Avorio, being scarce inhabited, was to comeinto the house as soon as her husband was well out of it ; and so times

not a few they did. But on one of these occasions it befell that, the

good man being gone forth, and Giannello Sirignario —such was the

gallant's name —being come into the house, and being with Peronella,

after a while, back came the good man, though 'twas not his wont to

return until the day was done j and finding the door locked, he

knocked, and after knocking, he fell a saying to himself: —O God,

praised be Thy name forever ; for that, albeit Thou hast ordained that

I be poor, at least Thou hast accorded me the consolation of a good

and honest girl for wife. Mark what haste she made to shut thedoor when I was gone forth, that none else might enter to give her

trouble.

Now Peronella knew by his knock that 'twas her husband ;

wherefore : — Alas, Giannello mine, quoth she, I am a dead

woman, for lo, here is my husband, foul fall him come back 1 Whatit mgy import, I know not, for he is never wont to come back at this

hour ;perchance he caught sight of thee as thou camest in. How-

ever, for the love of God, be it as it may, get thee into this tun that

thou seest here, and I will go open to him, and we shall see what is

the occasion of this sudden return this morning. So Giannello

forthwith got into the tun, and Peronella went to the door, and let in

her husband, and gave him black looks, saying : — This is indeed a

surprise that thou art back so soon this morning By what I see

thou hast a mind .to make this a holiday, that thou returnest tools in

hand ; if so, what are we to live on ? whence shall we get bread to

eat ? Thinkest thou I will let thee pawn my gown and other bits




of clothes ? Day and night I do nought else but spin, insomuch that

the flesh is fallen away from my nails, that at least I may have oil

enough to keep our lamp alight. Husband, husband, there is never a

woman in the neighbourhood but marvels and mocks at me, that I

am at such labour and pains; and thou comest home to me with thy

hands hanging idle, when thou shouldst be at work. Which said,

she' fell a weeping and repeating: — Alas, alas, woe 's me, in what

evil hour was I born ? in what luckless moment came I hither, I,

that might have had so goodly a young man, and I would not, to

take up with one that bestows never a thought on her whom he has

made his wife ? Other women have a good time with their lovers,

and never a one have we here but has two or three ; they take their

pleasure, and make their husbands believe that the moon is the sun

and I, alas for that I am an honest woman, and have no such casual

amours, I suffer, and am hard bested : I know not why I provide not

myself with one of these lovers, as others do. Give good heed,

husband, to what I say ; were I disposed to dishonour thee, I were

at no loss to find the man : for here are gallants enough, that love

me, and court me, and have sent me many an olTer of money —no

stint —or dresses or jewels, should I prefer them ; but my pride would

never suffer it, because I was not born of a woman of that sort : and

now thou comest home to me when thou oughtest to be at work.Whereto the husband : — Wife, wife, for God's sake distress not

thyself : thou shouldst give me credit for knowing what manner of

woman thou art, as indeed I have partly seen this morning. Trueit is that I went out to work ; but 'tis plain that thou knowest not,

as indeed I knew not, that to-day 'tis the feast of San Galeone, and a

holiday, and that is why I am come home at this hour ; but never-

theless 1 have found means to provide us with bread for more than a

month ; for I have sold to this gentleman, whom thou seest with me,

the tun, thou wottest of, seeing that it has encumbered the house so

long, and he will give me five gigliats for it. Quoth then Peron-

ella : — And all this but adds to my trouble : thou, that art a man,

and goest abroad, and shouldst know affairs, hast sold for five gigliats

a tun, which I, that am but a woman, and was scarce ever out of

doors, have, for that it took up so much room in the house, sold for

seven gigliats to a good man, that but now, as thou cam'st back, got

therein, to see if 'twere sound. So hearing, the husband was over-




joyed, and said to the man that was come to take it away j— Good

man, I wish thee Godspeed j for, as thou hearest, my wife has sold

the tun for seven gigliats, whereas thou gavest me only five.

Whereupon : — So be it, said the good man, and took himself off.

Then said Peronella to her husband :— Now, as thou art here, come

up, and arrange the matter with the good man.

Now Giannello, who, meanwhile, had been all on the alert to

discover if there were aught he had to fear or be on his guard against,

no sooner heard Peronella's last words, than he sprang out of the tun,

and feigning to know nought of her husband's return, began thus :

Where art thou, good dame ? Whereto the husband, coming

up, answered : — Here am I : what wouldst thou of me ? QuothGiannello: — And who art thou? I would speak with the lady

with whom I struck the bargain for this tun. Then said the good

man : — Have no fear, you can deal with me j for I am her husband.

Quoth then Giannello: — The tun seems to me sound enough; but

I think you must have let the lees remain in it ; for 'tis all encrusted

. with I know not what that is so dry, that I cannot raise it with the

nail; wherefore I am not minded to take it unless I first see it

scoured.'* Whereupon Peronella :— To be sure : that shall not

hinder the bargain ; my husband will scour it clean. And :

Well and good, said the husband.'So he laid down his tools, stripped himself to his vest, sent for a

light and a rasp, and was in the tun, and scraping away, in a trice.

Whereupon Peronella, as if she were curious to see what he did, thrust

her head into the vent of the tun, which was of no great size, and

therewithal one of her arms up to the shoulder, and fell a saying :

Scrape here, and here, and there too, and look, there is a bit left

here. So, she being in this posture, directing and admonishing her

husband, Giannello, who had not, that morning, fully satisfied his

desire, when the husband arrived, now seeing that as he would, he

might not, brought his mind to his circumstances, and resolved to

take his pleasure as he might : wherefore he made up to the lady,

who completely blocked the vent of the tun ; and even on such wise

as on the open champaign the wild and lusty horses do amorously

assail the mares of Parthia, ]^e sated his youthful appetite ; and

so it was that almost at the same moment that he did so, and

was off, the tun was scoured, the husband came forth of it, and




Peronella withdrew her head from the vent, and turning to

Giannello, said : — Take this light, good man, and see if 'tis

scoured to thy mind. Whereupon Giannello, looking into the tun,

said that 'twas in good trim, and that he was well content, and paid

the husband the seven gigliats, and caused him carry the tun to

his house.



NOVEL III.

Fra Rinaldo lies with his gossip : her husband Jinds him

in the room with her ; and they make him believe that

he was curing his godson of worms by a charm,

FiLOSTRATO knew not how so to veil what he said touching the

mares of Parthia, but that the keen-witted ladies laughed thereat,

making as if 'twas at somewhat else. However, his story being

ended, the king called for one from Elisa, who, all obedience, thus

began : —Debonair my ladies, we heard from Emilia how the bogey

is exorcised, and it brought to my mind a story of another incanta-

tion : 'tis not indeed so good a story as hers ; but, as no other,

germane to our theme, occurs to me at present, I will relate it.

You are to know, then, that there dwelt aforetime at Siena ayoung man, right gallant and of honourable family, his nameRinaldo j who, being in the last degree enamoured of one of his

neighbours, a most beautiful gentlewoman and the wife of a rich

man, was not without hopes that, if he could but find means to

speak with her privately, he might have of her all that he desired ;

but seeing no way, and the lady being pregnant, he cast about

how he might become her child's godfather. Wherefore, having

ingratiated himself with her husband, he broached the matter to

him in as graceful a manner as he might ; and 'twas arranged. So

Rinaldo, being now godfather to Madonna Agnesa's child, and having

a more colourable pretext for speaking to her, took courage, and

told her in words that message of his heart which she had long

before read in his eyes ; but though 'twas not displeasing to the

lady to hear, it availed him but little.

Now not long afterwards it so befell that, whatever may have

been his reason, Rinaldo betook him to friarage j and whether it

124




was that he found good pasture therein, or what not, he persevered

in that way of life. And though for a while after he was turnedfriar, he laid aside the love he bore his gossip, and certain other

vanities, yet in course of time, without putting off the habit, he

resumed them, and began to take a pride in his appearance, and to

go dressed in fine clothes, and to be quite the trim gallant, and to

compose songs and sonnets and ballades, and to sing them, and to

make a brave shew in all else that pertained to his new character.

But why enlarge upon our Fra Rinaldo, of whom we speak ? whatfriars are there that do not the like ? Ah opprobrium of a corrupt

world Sleek-faced and sanguine, daintily clad, dainty in all their

accessories, they ruffle it shamelessly before the eyes of all, shewingnot as doves but as insolent cocks with raised crest and swelling

bosom, and, what is worse (to say nought of the vases full of

electuaries and unguents, the boxes packed with divers comfits, the

pitchers and phials of artificial waters, and oils, the flagons brimming

with Malmsey and Greek and other wines of finest quality, with

which their cells are so packed that they shew not as the cells of

friars, but rather as apothecaries' or perfumers' shops), they blush

not to be known to be gouty, flattering themselves that other folk

wot not that long fasts and many of them, and coarse fare and little

of it, and sober living, make men lean and thin and for the most

part healthy ; or if any malady come thereof, at any rate 'tis not the

gout, the wonted remedy for which is chastity and all beside that

belongs to the regimen of a humble friar. They flatter themselves,

too, that others wot not that over and above the meagre diet, long

vigils and orisons and strict discipline ought to mortify men and

make them pale, and that neither St. Dominic nor St. Francis went

clad in stuff dyed in grain or any other goodly garb, but in coarse

woollen habits innocent of the dyer's art, made to keep out the cold,

and not for shew. To which matters 'twere well God had a care,

no less than to the souls of the simple folk by whom our friars are

nourished.

Fra Rinaldo, then, being come back to his first affections, took

to visiting his gossip very frequently ; and gaining confidence, began

with more insistence than before to solicit her to that which he

craved of her. So, being much urged, the good lady, to whom Fra

Rinaldo, perhaps, seemed now more handsome than of yore, had




recourse one day, when she felt herself unusually hard pressed by

him, to the common expedient of all that would fain concede whatis asked of them, and said :

— Oh but Fra Rinaldo, do friars then

do this sort of thing ? Madam, replied Fra Rinaldo, when I

divest myself of this habit, which I shall do easily enough, you will

see that I am a man furnished as other men, and no friar. Wheretowith a truly comical air the lady made answer :

— Alas woe's me

you are my child's godfather : how might it be ?' nay, but 'twere a

very great mischief; and many a time I have heard that 'tis a most

heinous sin ; and without a doubt, were it not so, I would do as you

wish. If, said Fra Rinaldo, you forego it for such a scruple as

this, you are a fool for your pains. I say not that 'tis no sin ; butthere is no sin so great but God pardons it, if one repent. Now tell

me : whether is more t ruly father to your son, I that held him at

the font, or your husband that begot him ? My husband, replied

the lady. Sooth say you, returned the friar, and does not your

husband lie with you ? Why, yes, said the lady. Then,rejoined the friar, I that am less truly your son's father than your

husband, ought also to lie with you, as does your husband. Thelady was no logician, and needed little to sway her : she therefore

believed or feigned to believe that what the friar said was true. So :

Who might avail to answer your words of wisdom ? quoth she ;

and presently forgot the godfather in the lover, and complied with

his desires. Nor had they begun their course to end it forthwith :

but under cover of the friar's sponsorship, which set them more at

ease, as it rendered them less open to suspicion, they forgathered again

and again.

But on one of these occasions it so befell that Fra Rinaldo, being

come to the lady's house, where he espied none else save a very

pretty and dainty little maid that waited on the lady, sent his com-

panion away with her into the pigeon-house, there to teach her the

paternoster, while he and the lady, holding her little boy by the hand,

went into the bedroom, locked themselves in, got them on to a divan

that was there, and began to disport them. And while thus they

sped the time, it chanced that the father returned, and, before any

was ware of him, was at the bedroom door, and knocked, and called

the lady by her name. Whereupon : — 'Tis as much as my life is

worth, quoth Madonna Agnesa ; lo, here is my husband j and




the occasion of our intimacy cannot but be now apparent to him.

Sooth say you, returned Fra Rinaldo, who was undressed, that

is to say, had thrown off his habit and hood, and was in his tunic ;

if I had but my habit and hood on me in any sort, 'twould be

another matter ; but if you let him in, and he find me thus, 'twill

not be possible to put any face on it. But with an inspiration as

happy as sudden :— Now get them on you, quoth the lady ;

and

when you have them on, take your godson in your arms, and give

good heed to what I shall say to him, that your words may accord

with mine ; and leave the rest to me.

The good man was still knocking, when his wife made answer :

Coming, coming. And so up she got, and put on a cheerfulcountenance and hied her to the door, and opened it and said :

Husband mine : well indeed was it for us that in came Fra Rinaldo,

our sponsor ; 'twas God that sent him to us ; for in sooth, but for

that, we had to-day lost our boy. Which the poor simpleton almost

swooned to hearj and: — How so? quoth he. O husband mine,

replied the lady, he was taken but now, all of a sudden, with a

fainting fit, so that I thought he was dead : and what to do or say I

knew not, had not Fra Rinaldo, our sponsor, come just in the nick of

time, and set him on his shoulder, and said :—

* Gossip, 'tis that he

has worms in his body, and getting, as they do, about the heart, they

might only too readily be the death of him ; but fear not ; I will say

a charm that will kill them all ; and before I take my leave, you will

see your boy as whole as you ever saw him.' And because to say

certain of the prayers thou shouldst have been with us, and the maid

knew not where to find thee, he caused his companion to say themat the top of the house^ and he and I came in here. And for that 'tis

not meet for any but the boy's mother to assist at such a service,

that we might not be troubled with any one else, we locked the

door Jand he yet has him in his arms; and I dojjbt not that he

only waits till his companion have said his prayers, and then the

charm will be complete j for the boy is already quite himself

again.

The good simple soul, taking all this for sooth, and overwrought

by the love he bore his son, was entirely without suspicion of the

trick his wife was playing him, and heaving a great sigh, said :— I

will go look for him. Nay, replied the wife, *'go not: thou




wouldst spoil the efficacy of the charm : wait here j I will go see

if thou mayst safely go ; and will call thee.

Whereupon Fra Rinaldo, who had heard all that passed, and was

in his canonicals, and quite at his ease, and had the boy in his arms,

having made sure that all was as it should be, cried out : — Gossip, do

I not hear the father's voice out there ? Ay indeed. Sir, replied

the simpleton. Come in then, said Fra Rinaldo. So in came the

simpleton. Whereupon quoth Fra Rinaldo : — I restore to you

your boy made whole by the grace of God, whom but now I scarce

thought you would see alive at vespers. You will do well to have

his image fashioned in wax, not less than life-size, and set it for a

thanksgiving to God, before the statue of Master St. Ambrose, by

whose merits you have this favour of God.

The. boy, catching sight of his father, ran to him with joyous

greetings, as little children are wont ; and the father, taking him in

his arms, and weeping as if he were restored to him from the grave,

fell by turns a kissing him and thanking his godfather, that he had

cured him. Fra Rinaldo's companion, who had taught the maid not

one paternoster only, but peradventure four or more, and by giving

her a little purse of white thread that a nun had given him, had

made her his devotee, no sooner heard Fra Rinaldo call the simpleton

into his wife's room, than he stealthily got him to a place whence he

might see and hear what was going on. Observing that the affair

was now excellently arranged, he came down, and entered the

chamber, saying : — Fra Rinaldo, those four prayers that you bade

me say, I have said them all. Then well done, my brother,

quoth Fra Rinaldo, well-breathed must thou be. For my part, I

had but said two, when my gossip came in ; but what with thy

travail and mine, God of His grace has vouchsafed us the healing or

the boy. The simpleton then had good wine and comfits brought

in, and did the ^onours to the godfather and his companion in such

sort as their occasions did most demand. He then ushered them

forth of the house, commending them to God ; and without delay.had the waxen image made, and directed it to be set up with the

others in front of the statue of St. Ambrose, not, be it understood,

St. Ambrose of Milan.̂

1 The statue would doubtless be that of St. Ambrose of Siena, of the

Dominican Order.



NOVEL IV.

Tofano one night locks his wife out of the house : she,

Jinding that by no entreaties may she prevail upon

him to let her in, feigns to throw herself into a well,

throwing therein a great stone. Tofano hies him forth

of the house, and runs to the spot : she goes into the

house, and locks him out, and hurls abuse at him fromwithin.

The king no sooner wist that Elisa's story was ended, than,

turning to Lauretta, he signified his will that she should tell some-

what : wherefore without delay she began : —O Loye, how great

and signal is thy potency how notable thy stratagems, thy devices

Was there ever, shall there ever be, philosopher or adept competent

to inspire, counsel and teach in such sort as thou by thine unpre-

meditated art dost tutor those that follow thy lead ? Verily laggard

teachers are they all in comparison of thee, as by the matters hereto-

fore set forth may very well be understood. To which store I will

add, loving ladies, a stratagem used by a woman of quite ordinary

understanding, and o\ such a sort that I know not by whom she

could have been taught it save by Love.

Know, then, that there dwelt aforetime at Arezzo a rich man,

Tofano by name, who took to wife Monna Ghita, a lady exceeding

fair, of whom, for what cause he knew not, he presently grew jealous.

Whereof the lady being ware, waxed resentful, and having on divers

occasions demanded of him the reason of his jealousy, and gotten from

him nought precise, but only generalities and trivialities, resolved at last

to give him-cause enough to die of that evil which without cause he so

much dreaded. And being ware that a gallant, whom she deemed well

VOL. II. 9 K




worthy of her, was enamoured of her, she, using due discretion, came

to an understanding with him ; which being brought to the point

that it only remained to give effect to their words in act, the lady cast

about to devise how this might be. And witting that, among other

bad habits that her husband had, he was too fond of his cups, she

would not only commend indulgence, but cunningly and not seldom

incite him thereto ; insomuch that, well-nigh as often as she was so

minded, she led him to drink to excess ; and when she saw that he

was well drunken, she would put him to bed ; and so not once only

but divers times without any manner of risk she forgathered with

her lover ; nay, presuming upon her husband's intoxication, she grew

so bold that, not content with bringing her lover into her house, shewould at times go spend a great part of the night with him at his

house, which was not far ofF.

Now such being the enamoured lady's constant practice, it so

befell that the dishonoured husband took note that, while she egged

him on to drink, she herself drank never a drop j whereby he came

to suspect the truth, to wit, that the lady was making him drunk,

that afterwards she might take her pleasure while he slept. Andbeing minded to put his surmise to the proof, one evening, having

drunken nought all day, he mimicked never so drunken a sot both in

speech and in carriage. The lady, deeming him to be really as he

appeared, and that 'twas needless to ply him with liquor, presently

put him to bed. Which done, she, as she at times was wont, hied

her forth to her lover's house, where she tarried until midnight.

Tofano no sooner perceived that his wife was gone, than up he got,

hied him to the door, locked it, and then posted himself at the window

to observe her return, and let her know that he was ware of her

misconduct. So there he stood until the lady returned, and finding

herself locked out, was annoyed beyond measure, and sought to forca

the door open. Tofano let her try her strength upon it a while, and

then: — Madam, qiioth he, 'tis all to no purpose : thou canst not

get in. Go get thee back thither where thou hast tarried all this

while, and rest assured that thou shalt never recross this threshold,

until I have done thee such honour as is meet for thee in the presence

of thy kinsfolk and neighbours. Thereupon the lady fell entreating

him to be pleased to open to her for the love of God, for that she was

not come whence he supposed, but had only been passing the time




with one of her gossips, because the nights were long, and she could

not spend the whole time either in sleep or in solitary watching.

But her supplications availed her nothing, for the fool was determined

that all Arezzo should know their shame, whereof as yet none wist

aught. So as 'twas idle to entreat, the lady assumed a menacingtone, saying : — So thou open not to me, I will make thee the

saddest man alive. Whereto Tofano made answer : — And whatthen canst thou do ? The lady, her wits sharpened by Love,rejoined :

— Rather than endure the indignity to which thou wouldst

unjustly subject me, I will cast myself into the well hard by here,

and when I am found dead there, all the world will believe that 'twas

thou that didst it in thy cups, and so thou wilt either have to flee andlose all that thou hast and be outlawed, or forfeit thy head as guilty

of my death, as indeed thou wilt be. But, for all she said, Tofanowavered not a jot in his foolish purpose. So at last : — Lo, now,quoth the lady, I can no more abide thy surly humour : God for-

give thee : I leave thee my distafF here, which be careful to bestow

in a safe place. So saying, away she hied her to the well, and, the

night being so dark that wayfarers could scarce see one another as

they passed, she took up a huge stone that was by the well, and ejac-

ulating, God forgive me dropped it therein. Tofano, hearing

the mighty splash that the stone made as it struck the water, neverdoubted that she had cast herself in : so, bucket and rope in hand, he

flung himself out of the house, and came running to the well to her

rescue. The lady had meanwhile hidden herself hard by the door,

and seeing him make for the well, was in the house in a trice, and having

locked the door, hied her to the window, and greeted him with :

'Tis while thou art drinking, not now, when the night is far spent,

that thou shouldst temper thy wine with water. Thus derided,

Tofano came back to the door, and finding his ingress barred, began

adjuring her to let him in. Whereupon, changing the low tone she

had hitherto used for one so shrill that 'twas well-nigh a shriek, she

broke out with: —*'By the Holy Rood, tedious drunken sot that

thou art, thou gettest no admittance here to-night j thy ways are

more than I can endure : 'tis time I let all the world know what

manner of man thou art, and at what hour of the night thou comest

home. Tofeno, on his part, now grew angry, and began loudly to

upbraid her ; insomuch that the neighbours, aroused by the noise.




got up, men and women alike, and looked out of the windows, and

asked what was the matter. Whereupon the lady fell a weeping

and saying : — 'Tis this wicked man, who comes home drunk at

even, or falls asleep in some tavern, and then returns at this hour.

Long and to no purpose have I borne with him ; but 'tis now past

endurance, and I have done him this indignity of locking him out of

the house in the hope that perchance it may cause him to mend his

ways.

Tofaho, on his part, told, dolt that he was, just what had

happened, and was mighty menacing. Whereupon : — Nowmark, quoth the lady to the neighbours, the sort of man he is

What would you say if I were, as he is, in the street, and he were in

the house, as I am ? God's faith, I doubt you would believe what

he said. Hereby you may gauge his sense. He tells you that I have

done just what, I doubt not, he has done himself. He thought to

terrify me by throwing I know not what into the well, wherein

would to God he had thrown himself indeed, and drowned himself,

whereby the wine of which he has taken more than enough, had

been watered to some purpose The neighbours, men and womenalike, now with one accord gave tongue, censuring Tofano, throwing

all the blame upon him, and answering what he alleged against the

lady with loud recrimination ; and in short the bruit, passing from

neighbour to neighbour, reached at last the ears of the lady's kinsfolk

who hied them to the spot, and being apprised of the affair from this,

that and the other of the neighbours, laid hands on Tofano, and beat

him till he was black and blue from head to foot. Which done, they

entered his house, stripped it of all that belonged to the lady, and

took her home with them, bidding Tofano look for worse to come.

Thus hard bested, and ruing the plight in which his jealousy had

landed him, Tofano, who loved his wife with all his heart, set some

friends to work to patch matters up, whereby he did in fact induce

his lady to forgive him and live with him again j albeit he was fain

to promise her never again to be jealous, and to give her leave to

amuse herself to her heart's content, provided she used such discretion

that he should not be ware of it. On such wise, like the churl and

booby that he was, being despoiled, he made terms. Now long live

Love, and perish war, and all that wage it 1



NOVEL V.

A jealous husband disguises himself as a priest^ and hears

his own wife's confession: she tells him that she loves

a priest^ who comes to her every night. The husband

posts himself at the door to watch for the priest ^ and

meanwhile the lady brings her lover in by the roof and

tarries with him.

When Lauretta had done speaking, and all had commended the

lady, for that she had done well, and treated her caitiff husband as he

had deserved, the king, not to lose time, turned to Fiammetta, and

graciously bade her take up her parable ; which she did on this

wise :

—Most noble ladies, the foregoing story prompts me likewiseto discourse of one of these jealous husbands, deeming that they are

justly requited by their wives, more especially when they grow jealous

without due cause. And had our legislators taken account of every-

thing, I am of opinion that they would have visited ladies in such a

case with no other penalty than such as they provide for those that

offend in self-defence, seeing that a jealous husband does cunningly

practise against the life of his lady, and most assiduously machinate

her death. All the week the wife stays at home, occupied with her

domestic duties ; after which, on the day that is sacred to joy, she,

like every one else, craves some solace, some peace, some recreation,

not unreasonably, for she craves but what the husbandmen take in

the fields, the craftsmen in the city, the magistrates in the courts,

nay what God Himself took, when He rested from all His labours on

the seventh day, and which laws human and Divine, mindful alike of

the honour of Gdd and the common well-being, have ordained,

appropriating certain days to work, and others to repose. To which

»33




ordinance these jealous husbands will in no wise conform ; on the

contrary by then most sedulously secluding their wives, they makethose days which to all other women are gladsome, to them mostgrievous and dolorous. And what an affliction it is to the poor

creatures, they alone know, who have proved it ; for which reason,

to sum up, I say that a wife is rather to be commended than censured,'

if she take her revenge upon a husband that is jealous without cause.

Know then that at Rimini there dwelt a merchant, a man of

great substance in lands and goods and money, who, having a mostbeautiful woman to wife, waxed inordinately jealous of her, and that

for no better reason than that, loving her greatly, and esteeming her

exceeding fair, and knowing that she did her utmost endeavour to

pleasure him, he must needs suppose that every man loved her, and

esteemed her fair, and that she, moreover, was as zealous to stand

well with every other man as with himself; whereby you may see

that he was a poor creature, and of little sense. Being thus so deeply

infected with jealousy, he kept so strict and close watch over her,

that some, maybe, have lain under sentence of death and been less

rigorously confined by their warders. 'Twas not merely that the

lady might not go to a wedding, or a festal gathering, or ^ven to

church, or indeed set foot out of doors in any sort ; but she dared not

so much as shew herself at a window, or cast a glance outside thehouse, no matter for what purpose. Wherefore she led a most woeful

life of it, and found it all the harder to bear because she knew her-

self to be innocent. Accordingly, seeing herself evilly entreated by her

husband without good cause, she cast about how for her own con-

solation she might devise means to justify his usage of her. And for

that, as she might not shew herself at the window, there could be nointerchange of amorous glances between her and any man that passed

along the street, but she wist that in the next house there was a

goodly and debonair gallant, she bethought her, that, if there were

but a hole in the wall that divided the two houses, she might watch

thereat, until she should have sight of the gallant on such wise that

she might speak to him, and give him her love, if he cared to have it,

and, if so it might be contrived, forgather with him now and again,

and after this fashion relieve the burden of her woeful life, until such

time as the evil spirit should depart from her husband. So peering

about, now here, now there, when her husband was away, she found



FIFTH STORY.] DECAMERON- 135

in a very remote part of the house a place, where, by chance, the

wall had a little chink in it. Peering through which, she made out,

though not without great difficulty, that on the other side was a

room, and said to herself: —If this were Filippo's room —Filippo was

the name of the gallant, her neighbour —I should be already halfway

to my goal. So cautiously, through her maid, who was grieved to see

her thus languish, she made quest, and discovered that it was indeed

the gallant's room, where he slept quite alone. Wherefore she nowbetook her frequently to the aperture, and whenever she was ware

that the gallant was in the room, she would let fall a pebble or the

like trifle; whereby at length she brought the gallant to the other

side of the aperture to see what the matter was. Whereupon she

softly called him, and he knowing her voice, answered ; and so, having

now the opportunity she had sought, she in few words opened to him

all her mind. The gallant, being overjoyed, wrought at the aperture

on such wise that albeit none might be ware thereof, he enlarged it

and there many a time they held converse together, and touched

hands, though further they might not go by reason of the assiduous

watch that the jealous husband kept.

Now towards Christmas the lady told her husband that, if he

approved, she would fain go on Christmas morning to church, and

confess and communicate, like other Christians.

And what sins,'*

quoth he, hast thou committed, that wouldst be shriven ? How ?

returned the lady ; dost thou take me for a saint ? For all thou

keepest me so close, thou must know very well that I am like all

other mortals. However, I am not minded to confess to thee, for

that thou art no priest. Her husband, whose suspicions were excited

by what she had said, cast about how he might discover these

sins of hers, and having bethought him of what seemed an apt

expedient, made answer that she had his. consent, but he would

not have, her go to any church but their own chapel, where she

might hie her betimes in the morning, and confess either to their

own chaplain or some other priest that the chaplain might assign

her, but to none other, and presently return to the house. Thelady thought she half understood him, but she answered only that

she would do as he required. Christmas morning came, and with

the dawn tjie lady rose, dressed herself, and hied her to the church

appointed by her husband, who also rose, and hied him to the same




church, where he arrived before herj and having already concerted

matters with the priest that was in charge, he forthwith put on

one of the priest's robes with a great hood, overshadowing the face,

such as we see priests wear, and which he pulled somewhat forward

and so disguised he seated himself in the choir.

On entering the church the lady asked for the priest, who came,

and learning that she was minded to confess, said that he could not

hear her himself, but would send her one of his brethren ; so awayhe hied him and sent her, in an evil hour for him, her husband.

For though he wore an air of great solemnity, and 'twas not yet

broad day, and he had pulled the hood well over his eyes, yet all

did not avail, but that his lady forthwith recognized him, and saidto herself: —God be praised why, the jealous rogue is turned priest

:

but leave it me to give him that whereof he is in quest. So she

feigned not to know him, and seated herself at his feet. (I should

tell you that he had put some pebbles in his mouth, that his speech,

being impeded, might not betray him to his wife, and in all other

respects he deemed himself so thoroughly disguised that there wasnought whereby she might recognize him.) Now, to come to the

confession, the lady, after informing him that she was married, told

him among other matters that she was enamoured of a priest, whocame every night to lie with her. Which to hear was to her

husband as if he were stricken through the heart with a knife; and

had it not been that he was bent on knowing more, he would have

forthwith given over the confession, and taken himself off. How-ever he kept his place, and: — How ? said he to the lady, does not

your husband lie with you? The lady replied in the affirmative.

How, then, quoth the husband, can the priest also lie with

you ? Sir, replied she, what art the priest employs I knownot J but door there is none, however well locked, in the house,

that comes not open at his touch; and he tells me that, being

come to the door of my room, before he opens it, he says certain

words, whereby my husband forthwith falls asleep; whereupon he

opens the door, and enters the room, and lies with me ; and so 'tis

always, without fail. Then 'tis very wrong, Madam, and you

must give it up altogether, said the husband. That, Sir, returned

the lady, I doubt I can never do; for I love him too much.*' In that case, quoth the husband, I cannot give you absolution.




The pity of it ejaculated the lady; I came not hither to tell

you falsehoods: if I could give it up, I would. Madam, replied

the husband, indeed I am sorry for you; for I see that you are

in a fair way to lose your soul. However, this I will do for you

I will make special supplication to God on your behalf; and per-

chance you may be profited thereby. And from time to time I will

send you one of my young clerics; and you will tell him whether

my prayers have been of any help to you, or no, and if they have

been so, I shall know what to do next. Nay, Sir, quoth the

lady, do not so; send no man to me at home; for, should myhusband come to know it, he is so jealous that nothing in the world

would ever disabuse him of the idea that he came but for an evil

purpose, and so I should have no peace with him all the year long.

Madam, returned the husband, have no fear; rest assured that

I will so order matters that you shall never hear a word about it

from him. If you can make sure of that, quoth the lady, I

have no more to say. And so, her confession ended, and her penance

enjoined, she rose, and went to mass, while the luckless husband,

fuming and fretting, hasted to divest himself of his priest's trappings,

and then went home bent upon devising some means to bring the

priest and his wife together, and take his revenge upon them both.

When the lady came home from church she read in her husband'sface that she had spoiled his Christmas for him, albeit he dissembled

to the uttermost, lest she should discover what he had done, and

supposed himself to have learned. His mind was made up to keep

watch for the priest that very night by his own front door. So to

the lady he said : — I have to go out to-night to sup and sleep ; so

thou wilt take care that the front door, and the mid-stair door, and

the bedroom door are well locked ; and for the rest thou mayst go

to bed, at thine own time. Well and good, replied the lady:

and as soon as she was able, off she hied her to the aperture, and

gave the wonted signal, which Filippo no sooner heard, than he was

at the spot. The lady then told him what she had done in the

morning, and what her husband had said to her after breakfast,

adding: — Sure I am that he will not stir out of the house, but will

keep watch beside the door; wherefore contrive to come in to-night

by the roof, that we may be together. Madam, replied the

gallant, nothing loath, trust me for that.




Night came, the husband armed, and noiselessly hid himself in

a room on the ground floor: the lady locked all the doors, being

especially careful to secure the mid-stair door, to bar her husband's

ascent; and in due time the gallant, having found his way cautiously

enough over the roof, they got them to bed, and there had solace of

one another and a good time; and at daybreak the gallant hied him

back to his house. Meanwhile the husband, rueful and supperless,

half dead with coH, kept his armed watch beside his door, momently

expecting the priest, for the best part of the night; but towards

daybreak, his powers failing him, he lay down and slept in the

ground-floor room. 'Twas hard upon tierce when he awoke, and

the front door was then open; so, making as if he had just comein, he went upstairs and breakfasted. Not long afterwards he sent

to his wife a young fellow, disguised as the priest's underling, whoasked her if he of whom she wist had been with her again. Thelady, who quite understood what that meant, made answer that he

had not come that night, and that, if he continued to neglect her

so, 'twas possible he might be forgotten, though she had no mind

to forget him.

Now, to make a long story short, the husband passed many a

night in the same way, hoping to catch the priest as he came in,

the lady and hergallant meanwhile having a good time. But at

last the husband, being able to stand it no longer, sternly demanded

of his wife what she had said to the priest the morning when she

was confessed. The lady answered that she was not minded to tell

him, for that 'twas not seemly or proper so to do. Whereupon :

Sinful woman, quoth the husband, in thy despite I know what

thou saidst to him, and know I must and will who this priest is,

of whom thou art enamoured, and who by dint of his incantations

lies with thee a nights, or I will sluice thy veins for thee. 'Tis

not true, replied the lady, that I am enamoured of a priest.

How ? quoth the husband, saidst thou not as much to the

priest that confessed thee ? Thou canst not have had it from

him, rejoined the lady. Wast thou then present thyself? For

sure I never told him so. Then tell me, quoth the husband,

who this priest is; and lose no time about it. Whereat the lady

began to smile, and: — I find it not a little diverting, quoth she,

that a wise man ishould suffer himself to be led by a simple woman



F/FTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 139

asa ram

is ledby the horns to the shambles

; albeit no wiseman

art thou: not since that fatal hour when thou gavest harbourage in

thy breast, thou wist not why, to the evil spirit of jealousy ; and

the more foolish and insensate thou art, the less glory have I.

Deemest thou, my husband, that I am as blind of the bodily eye

as thou art of the mind's eye ? Nay, but for sure I am not so.

I knew at a glance the priest that confessed me, and that 'twas even

thyself. But I was minded to give thee that of which thou wast

in quest, and I gave it thee. Howbeit, if thou hadst been the

wise man thou takest thyself to be, thou wouldst not have chosen

such a way as that to worm out thy good lady's secrets, nor

wouldst thou have fallen a prey to a baseless suspicion, but wouldst

have understood that what she confessed was true, and she all the

while guiltless. I told thee that I loved a priest; and wast not

thou, whom I love, though ill enough dost thou deserve it, turned

priest ? I told thee that there was no door in my house but would

open when he was minded to lie with me: and when thou wouldst

fain have access to me, what door was ever closed against thee ?

I told thee that the priest lay nightly with me: and what night

was there that thou didst not lie with me ? Thou sentest thy

young clerk to me : and thou knowest that, as often as thou hadst

not been with me, I sent word that the priest had not been with

me. Who but thou, that hast suffered jealousy to blind thee, would

have been so witless as not to read such a riddle ? But thou must

needs mount guard at night beside the door, and think to makeme believe that thou hadst gone out to sup and sleep. Consider

thy ways, and court not the mockery of those that know themas I do, but turn a man again as thou wast wont to be: and let

there be no more of this strict restraint in which thou keepest me;for I swear to thee by God that, if I were minded to set horns on

thy brow, I should not fail so to take my pastime that thou wouldst

never find it out, though thou hadst a hundred eyes, as thou hastbut two.

Thus admonished, the jealous caitiff^, who had flattered himself

that he had very cunningly discovered his wife's secret, was

ashamed, and made no answer save to commend his wife's wit and

honour; and thus, having cause for jealousy, he discarded it, as he




had erstwhile been jealous without cause. And so the adroit lady had,

as it were, a charter of indulgence, and needed no more to contrive

for her lover to come to her over the roof like a cat, but admitted

him by the door, and using due discretion, had many a good time

with him, and sped her life gaily.



NOVEL VI.

Madonna Isabella has with her Leonetto^ her accepted

lover, when she is surprised by one Messer Lamber-

tuccio, by whom she is beloved : her husband coming

home about the same time, she sends Messer Lamber-

tuccio forth of the house drawn sword in hand, and

the husband afterwards escorts Leonetto home.

Wondrous was the delight that all the company had of Fiam-

metta's story, nor was there any but affirmed that the lady had done

excellent well, and dealt with her insensate husband as he deserved.

However, it being ended, the king bade Pampinea follow suit; which

she did onthis

wise:

—Nota

few thereare that in their simplicity

aver that Love deranges the mind, insomuch that whoso loves

becomes as it were witless : the folly of which opinion, albeit I

doubt it not, and deem it abundantly proven by what has been

already said, I purpose once again to demonstrate.

In our city, rich in all manner of good things, there dwelt a

young gentlewoman, fair exceedingly, and wedded to a most worthy

and excellent gentleman. And as it not seldom happens that one

cannot keep ever to the same diet, but would fain at times vary it,

so this lady, finding her husband not altogether to her mind, became

enamoured of a gallant, Leonetto by name, who, though of no high

rank, was not a little debonair and courteous, and he in like manner

fell in love with her ; and (as you know that 'tis seldom that what is

mutually desired fails to come about) 'twas not long before they had

fruition of their love. Now the lady beinir, as I said, fair and win-

some, it so befell that a gentleman, Messer Lambertuccio by name,

grew mightily enamoured of her, but so tiresome and odious did she

141




find him, that for the world she could not bring herself to love him.

So, growing tired of fruitlessly soliciting her favour by ambassage,

Messer Lambertuccio, who was a powerful signior, sent her at last

another sort of message in which he threatened to defame her if she

complied not with his wishes. Wherefore the lady, knowing her

man, was terrified, and disposed herself to pleasure him.

Now it so chanced that Madonna Isabella, for such was the lady's

name, being gone, as is our Florentine custom in the summer, to

spend some time on a very goodly estate that she had in the contado,

one morning finding herself alone, for her husband had ridden off to

tarry some days elsewhere, she sent for Leonetto to come and keep

her company; and Leonetto came forthwith in high glee. But whilethey were together, Messer Lambertuccio, who, having got windthat the husband was away, had mounted his horse and ridden

thither quite alone, knocked at the door. Whereupon the lady's maid

hied her forthwith to her mistress, who was alone with Leonetto,

and called her, saying : — Madam, Me?ser Lambertuccio is here

below, quite alone. Whereat the lady was vexed beyond measure ;

and being also not a little dismayed, she said to Leonetto: — Prithee,

let it not irk thee to withdraw behind the curtain, and there keep

close until Messer Lambertuccio be gone. Leonetto, who stood in

no less fear of Messer Lambertuccio than did the lady, got into his

hiding-place j and the lady bade the maid go open to Messer Lam-bertuccio : she did so ; and having dismounted and fastened his

palfrey to a pin, he ascended the stairs ; at the head of which the

lady received him with a smile and as gladsome a greeting as she

could find words for, and asked him on what errand he was come.

The gentleman embraced and kissed her, saying :—*' My soul, I am

informed that your husband is not here, and therefore I am come to

stay a while with you. Which said, they went into the room, and

locked them in, and Messer Lambertuccio fell a toying with her.

Now, while thus he sped the time with her, it befell that the

lady's husband, albeit she nowise expected him, came home, and, as

he drew nigh the palace, was observed by the maid, who forthwith

ran to the lady's chamber, and said :— Madam, the master will be

here anon ; I doubt he is already in the courtyard. Whereupon,

for that she had two men in the house, and the knight's palfrey, that

was in the courtyard, made it impossible to hide him, the lady gave




herself up for dead. Nevertheless she made up her mind on the spur

of the moment, and springing out of bed : — Sir, quoth she to

Messer Lambcrtuccio, if you have any regard for me, and would

save my life, you will do as I bid you : that is to say, you will draw

your blade, and put on a fell and wrathful countenance, and hie you

downstairs, saying :—

* By God, he shall not escape me elsewhere.*

And if my husband would stop you, or as c you aught, say nought

but what I have told you, and get you on horseback and tarry with

him on no account. To hear is to obey, quoth Messer Lambcr-

tuccio, who, with the flush of his recent exertion and the rage that

he felt at the husband's return still on his face, and drawn sword in

hand, did as she bade him. The lady's husband, being now dis-

mounted in the courtyard, and not a little surprised to see the palfrey

there, was about to go up the stairs, when he saw Messer Lamber-

tuccio coming down them, and marvelling both at his words and at

his mien: — What means this. Sir? quoth he. But Messer

Lambertuccio clapped foot in stirrup, and mounted, saying nought

but : — Zounds, but I will meet him elsewhere ; and so he rode off.

The gentleman then ascended the stairs, at the head of which he

found his lady distraught with terror, to whom he said :— What

manner of thing is this ? After whom goes Messer Lambertuccio,

so wrathful and menacing?

Whereto the lady, drawing nigherthe room, that Leonetto might hear her, made answer : — Never,

Sir, had I such a fright as this. There came running in here a youngman, who to me is quite a stranger, and at his heels Messer Lamber-tuccio with a drawn sword in his hand ; and as it happened the

young man found the door of this room open, and trembling in every

limb, cried out : —' Madam, your succour, for God's sake, that I die

not in your arms.' So up I got, and would have asked him whohe was, and how bested, when up came Messer Lambertuccio,

exclaiming: —'Where art thou, traitor ? * I planted myself in the

doorway, and kept him from entering, and seeing that I was not

minded to give him admittance, he was courteous enough, after not

a little parley, to take himself off, as you saw. Whereupon :

Wife, quoth the husband, thou didst very right. Great indeed

had been the scandal, had some one been slain here, and 'twas a gross

affront on .Messer Lambertuccio's part to pursue a fugitive within

the house: He then asked where the young man was. Whereto




the lady answered :— Nay, where he may be hiding, Sir, I wot

not. So : — Where art thou ? quoth the knight. Fear not to

shew thyself. Then forth of his hiding-place, all of a tremble, for

in truth he had been thoroughly terrified, crept Leonetto, who had

heard all that had passed. To whom :— What hast thou to do

with Messer Lambertuccio ? quoth the knight. Nothing in the

world, replied the young man : wherefore, I doubt he must either

be out of his mind, or have mistaken me for another ; for no sooner

had he sight of me in the street hard by the palace, than he laid his

hand on his sword, and exclaimed :—

* Traitor, thou art a dead man.'

Whereupon I sought not to know why, but fled with all speed, and

got me here, and so, thanks to God and this gentlewoman, I escaped

his hands. Now away with thy fears, quoth the knight ; I

will see thee home safe and sound ; and then 'twill be for thee to

determine how thou shalt deal with him. And .so, when they had

supped, he set him on horseback, and escorted him to Florence, and

left him not until he was safe in his own house. And the very

same evening, following the lady's instructions, Leonetto spoke privily

with Messer Lambertuccio, and so composed the affair with him,

that, though it occasioned not a little talk, the knight never wist howhe had been tricked by his wife.



NOVEL VII.

Lodovico discovers to Madonna Beatrice the love that he

bears her : she sends Egano, her hushand, into a

garden disguised as herself, and lies with Lodovico

who thereafter, being risen, hies him to the garden andcudgels Egano.

This device of Madonna Isabella, thus recounted by Pampinea,

was held nothing short of marvellous by all the company. But, being

bidden by the king to tell the next story, thus spake Filomena :

Loving ladies, if I mistake not, the device, of which you shall

presently hear from me, will prove to be no less excellent than the

last.

You are to know, then, that there dwelt aroretime at Paris a

Florentine gentleman, who, being by reason of poverty turned mer-chant, had prospered so well in his affairs that he was become very

wealthy j and having by his lady an only son, Lodovico by name,

whose nobility disrelished trade, he would not put him in any shop

but that he might be with other gentleman, he caused him to enter

the service of the King of France, whereby he acquired very fine

manners and other accomplishments. Being in this service, Lodovico

was one day with some other young gallants that talked of the fair

ladies of France, and England, and other parts of the world, whenthey were joined by certain knights that were returned from the

Holy Sepulchre ; and hearing their discourse, one of the knights fell

a saying, that of a surety in the whole world, so far as he had

explored it, there was not any lady, of all that he had ever seen,

that might compare for beauty with Madonna Beatrice, the wife of

Egano de' Galluzzi, of Bologna : whetein all his companions, whoVOL. II, 145 L




in common with him had seen the lady at Bologna, concurred.

Which report Lodovico, who was as yet fancy-free, no sooner heard,

than he burned with such a yearning to see the lady that he was

able to think of nought else : insomuch that he made up his mindto betake him to Bologna to see her, and if she pleased him, to

remain there ; to which end he gave his father to understand that he

would fain visit the Holy Sepulchre, whereto his father after no little

demur consented.

So to Bologna Anichino —for so he now called himself —cameand, as Fortune would have it, the very next day, he saw the lady at

a festal gathering, and deemed her vastly more beautiful than he had

expected : wh'erefore he waxed most ardently enamoured of her, andresolved never to quit Bologna, until he had gained her love. So,

casting about how he should proceed, he could devise no other waybut to enter her husband's service, which was the more easy that he

kept not a few retainers : on this wise Lodovico surmised that, per-

adventure, he might compass his end. He therefore sold his horses

and meetly bestowed his servants, bidding them make as if they

knew him not ; and being pretty familiar with his host, he told

him that he was minded to take service with some worthy lord, it

any such he might find. Thou wouldst make, quoth the host,

the very sort of retainer to suit a gentleman of this city, Egano by

name, who keeps not a few of them, and will have all of thempresentable like thee : I will mention the matter to him. And so

he accordingly did, and before he took leave of Egano had placed

Anichino with him, to Egano's complete satisfaction.

Being thus resident with Egano, and having abundant oppor-

tunities of seeing the fair kdy, Anichino set himself to serve Eganowith no little zeal ; wherein he succeeded so well, that Egano was

more than satisfied, insomuch that by and by there was nought he

could do without his advice, and he entrusted to him the guidance

not only of himself, but of all his affairs. Now it so befell that one

day when Egano was gone a hawking, having left Anichino at home.Madonna Beatrice, who as yet wist not of his love, albeit she had

from time to time taken note of him and his manners, and had not

a little approved and commended them, sat herself down with him to

a game of chess, which, to please her, Anichino most dexterously

contrived to lose, to the lady's prodigious delight. After a while, the




lady's women, one and all, gave over watching their play, and left

them to it ; wliereupon Anichino heaved a mighty sigh. The lady,

looking hard at him, said :— What ails thee, Anichino ? Is it, then,

such a mortification to thee to be conquered by me? Nay,Madam, replied Anichino, my sigh was prompted by a muchgraver matter. Then, if thou hast any regard for me, quoth the

lady, tell me what it is. Hearing himself thus adjured by anyregard he had for her whom he loved more than aught else, Anichino

heaved a yet mightier sigh, which caused the lady to renew her

request that he would be pleased to tell her the occasion of his sighs.

Whereupon :— Madam, said Anichino, I greatly fear me, that,

were I to tell it you, 'twould but vex you j and, moreover, I doubtyou might repeat it to some one else. Rest assured, returned the

lady, that I shall neither be annoyed, nor, without thy leave, ever

repeat to any other soul aught that thou mayst say. Then, said

Anichino, having this pledge from you, I will tell it you. And,while the tears all but stood in his eyes, he told her, who he was, the

report he had heard of her, and where and how he had become

enamoured of her, and with what intent he had taken service with

her husband : after which, he humbly besought her, that, if it might

be, she would have pity on him, and gratify this his secret and ardent

desire ; and that, if she were not minded so to do, she would suffer

him to retain his place there, and love her. Ah Bologna howsweetly mixed are the elements in thy women I How commendable

in such a case are they all No delight have they in sighs ^nd tears,

but are ever inclinable to prayers, and ready to yield to the solicita-

tions of Love. Had I but words apt to praise them as they deserve,

my eloquence were inexhaustible.

The gentlewoman's gaze was fixed on Anichino as he spoke ;

she made no doubt that all he said was true, and yielding to his

appeal, she entertained his love within her heart in such measure

that she too began to sigh, and after a sigh or two made answer :

Sweet my Anichino, be of good cheer ; neither presents nor

promises, nor any courting by gentleman, or lord, or whoso else (for

1 have been and am still courted by not a few) was ever able to sway

my soul to love any of them : but thou, by the few words that thou

hast said, ha^t so wrought with me that, brief though the time has

been, I am already in far greater measure thine than mine. My love




I deem thee to have won right worthily ; and so I give it thee, and

vow to give thee joyance thereof before the coming night be past.

To which end thou wilt come to my room about midnight ; I will

leave the door open ; thou knowest the side of the bed on which I

sleep ; thou wilt come there ; should I be asleep, thou hast but to

touch me, and I shall awake, and give thee solace of thy long-pent

desire. In earnest whereof I will even give thee a kiss. So saying,

she threw her arms about his neck, and lovingly kissed him, as

Anichino her.

Their colloquy thus ended, Anichino betook him elsewhere about

some matters which he had to attend to, looking forward to midnight

with boundless exultation. Egano came in from his hawking ; andafter supper, bdng weary, went straight to bed, whither the lady

soon followed him, leaving, as she had promised, the door of the

chamber open. Thither accordingly, at the appointed hour, came

Anichino, and having softly entered the chamber, and closed the

door behind him, stole up to where the lady lay, and laying his hand

upon her breast, found that she was awake. Now, as soon as she

wist that Anichino was come, she took his hand in both her own ;

and keeping fist hold of him, she turned about in the bed, until she

awoke Egano ; whereupon : — Husband, quoth she, I would not

say aughtof this to thee, yestereve, because I judged thou wast

weary ; but tell me, upon thy hope of salvation, Egano, whom deem-

est thou thy best and most loyal retainer, and the most attached to

thee, of all that thou hast in the house? What a question is

this, wife ? returned Egano. Dost not know him ? Retainer I

have none, nor ever had, so trusted, or loved, as Anichino. But

wherefore put such a question ?

Now, when Anichino wist that Egano was awake, and heard

them talk of himself, he more than once tried to withdraw his hand,

being mightily afraid lest the lady meant to play him false ; but she

held it so tightly that he might not get free, while thus she made

answer to Egano : — I will tell thee what he is. I thought that he was

all thou sayst, and that none was so loyal to thee as he, but he has

undeceived me, for that yesterday, when thou wast out a hawking,

he, being here, chose his time, and had the shamelessness to crave of

me compliafice with his wanton desires : and I, that I might not need

other evidence than that of thine own senses to prove his guilt to thee.




I made answer, that I was well content, and that to-night, after

midnight, I would get me into the garden, and await him there at

the foot of the pine. Now go thither I shall certainly not ; but, if

thou wouldst prove the loyalty of thy retainer, thou canst readily do

so, if thou but slip on one of my loose robes, and cover thy face with

a veil, and go down and attend his coming, for come, I doubt not, he

will. Whereto Egano : — Meet indeed it is, quoth he, that

I should go see ; and straightway up he got, and, as best he

might in the dark, he put on one of the lady's loose robes and veiled

his face, and then hied him to the garden, and sate down at the foot

of the pine to await Anichino. The lady no sooner wist that he was

out of the room, than she rose, and locked the door. Anichino, whohad never been so terrified in all his life, and had struggled with all

his might to disengage his hand from the lady's clasp, and had

inwardly cursed her and his love, and himself for trusting her, a

hundred thousand times, was overjoyed beyond measure at this last

turn that she had given the affair. And so, the lady having got her

to bed again, and he, at her bidding, having stripped and laid himdown beside her, they had solace and joyance of one another for a

good while. Then, the lady, deeming it unmeet for Anichino to tarry

longer with her, caused him to get up and resume his clothes,

saying to him : — Sweet my mouth, thou wilt take a stout cudgel,

and get thee to the garden, and making as if I were there, and thy

suit to me had been but to try me, thou wilt give Egano a sound

rating with thy tongue and a sound belabouring with thy cudgel,

the sequel whereof will be wondrously gladsome and delightful.

Whereupon Anichino hied him off to the garden, armed with a staff

of wild willow ; and as he drew nigh the pine, Egano saw him, and

rose and came forward to meet him as if he would receive him with

the heartiest of cheer. But :— Ah wicked woman quoth

Anichino ; so thou art come I Thou didst verily believe, then, that

I was, that I am, minded thus to wrong my lord ? Foul fall thee a

thousand times And therewith he raised his cudgel, and began to

lay about him. Egano, however, had heard and seen enough, and

without a word took to flight, while Anichino pursued him, crying

out : — Away with thee I God send thee a bad year, lewd womanthat thou art ; nor doubt that Egano shall hear of this to-morrow.

Egano, having received sundry round knocks, got him back to his




chamber with what speed he might ; and being asked by the lady,

whether Anichino had come into the garden : — Would to God he

had not

quoth he, for that, taking me for thee, he has beaten meblack and blue with his cudgel, and rated me like the vilest womanthat ever was : passing strange, indeed, it had seemed to me that he

should have said those words to thee with intent to dishonour me ;

and now 'tis plain that 'twas but that, seeing thee so blithe and

frolicsome, he was minded to prove thee. Whereto : — God be

praised, returned the lady, that he proved me by words, as thee by

acts : and I doubt not he may say that I bear his words with more

patience than thou his acts. But since he is so loyal to thee, we

must make much of him and do him honour.**

Ay, indeed, quothEgano, thou sayst sooth.

Thus was Egano fortified in the belief that never had any gentle-

man wife so true, or retainer so loyal, as he ; and many a hearty

laugh had he with Anichino and his lady over this affair, which to

them was the occasion that, with far less let than might else have

been, they were able to have solace and joyance of one another, so

long as it pleased Anichino to tarry at Bologna.



NOVEL VIII.

A husband grows jealous of his wife, and discovers that

she has warning of her lover s approach by a piece ofpack-thready which she ties to her great toe a nights.

While he is pursuing her lover, she puts another

woman in bed in her place. The husband, finding

her there, beats her, and cuts off her hair. He then

goes and calls his wife's brothers, who, holding his

accusation to be false, give him a rating,-f

rtOr\vaOi(\jA )

Rare indeed was deemed by common consent the subtlety shewn

by Madonna Beatrice in the beguilement of her husband, and all

affirmed that the terror of Anichino must have been prodigious,

when, the lady still keeping fast hold of him, he had heard her say

that he had made suit of love to her. However, Filomena being

silent, the king turned to Nei file, saying : — 'Tis now for you to

tell. Whereupon Nei file, while a slight smile died away ypon her

lips, thus began : —Fair ladies, to entertain you with a goodly story,

such as those which my predecessors have delighted you withal, is

indeed a heavy burden, but, God helping me, I trust fairly well

to acquit myself thereof.

You are to know, then, that there dwelt aforetime in our

city a most wealthy merchant, Arriguccio Berlinghieri by name,

who foolishly, as we wot by daily experience is the way of

merchants, thinking to compass gentility by matrimony, took to

wife a young gentlewoman, by no means suited to him, whose

name was Monna Sismonda. Now Monna Sismonda, seeing

that her husband was much abroad, and gave her little of his




company, became enamoured of a young gallant, Ruberto by name,

who had long courted her : and she being grown pretty familiar

with him, and using, perchance, too little discretion, for she affected

him extremely, it so befell that Arriguccio, whether it was that he

detected somewhat, or howsoever, waxed of all men the most jealous,

and gave up going abroad, and changed his way of life altogether,

and made it his sole care to watch over his wife, insomuch that he

never allowed himself a wink of sleep until he had seen her to bed :

which occasioned the lady the most grievous dumps, because 'twas

on no wise possible for her to be with her Ruberto. So, casting

about in many ways how she might contrive to meet him, and

being thereto not a little plied by Ruberto himself, she bethoughther at last of the following expedient : to wit, her room fronting

the street, and Arriguccio, as she had often observed, being very

hard put to it to get him to sleep, but thereafter sleeping very

soundly, she resolved to arrange with Ruberto that he should cometo the front door about midnight, whereupon she would get her

down, and open the door, and stay some time with him while her

husband was in his deep sleep. And that she might have tidings of

his arrival, yet so as that none else might wot aught thereof, she

adopted the device of lowering a pack-thread from the bedroom

window on such wise that, while with one end it should all but touch

the ground, it should traverse the floor of the room, until it reached

the bed, and then be brought under the clothes, so that, when she

was abed, she might attach it to her great toe. Having so done,

she sent word to Ruberto, that when he came, he must be sure to

jerk the, pack-thread, and, if her husband were asleep, she would

loose it, and go open to him ; but, if he were awake, she would

hold it taut and draw it to herself, to let him know that he must

not expect her. Ruberto fell in with the idea, came there manytimes, and now forgathered with her and again did not. But at last,

they still using this cunning practice, it so befell that one night,

while the lady slept, Arriguccio, letting his foot stray more than he

was wont about the bed, came upon the pack-thread, and laying his

hand upon it, found that it was attached to his lady's great toe, and

said to himself :—rTh is must be some trick : and afterwards discover-

ing that the thread passed out of the window, was confirmed in his

surmise. Wherefore, he softly severed it from the lady's toe, and




affixed it to his own ; and waited, all attention, to learn the result

of his experiment. Nor had he long to wait before Ruberto came,and Arriguccio felt him jerk the thread according to his wont: and

as Arriguccio had not known how to attach the thread securely, and

Ruberto jerked it with some force, it gave way, whereby he under-

stood that he was to wair^ and did so. Arriguccio straightway arose,

caught up his arms, and hasted to the door to see who might be

there, intent to do him a mischief. Now Arriguccio, for all he was

a merchant, was a man of spirit, and of thews and sinews j and being

come to the door, he opened it by no means gingerly, as the

lady was wont ; whereby Ruberto, who was in waiting, surmised the

truth, to wit, that 'twas Arriguccio by whom the door was opened.Wherefore he forthwith took to flight, followed by Arriguccio. But

at length, when he had run a long way, as Arriguccio gave not up

the pursuit, he being also armed, drew his sword, and faced about

and so they fell to, Arriguccio attacking, and Ruberto defending

himself.

Now when Arriguccio undid the bedroom door, the lady awoke,

and finding the pack-thread cut loose from her toe, saw at a glance

that her trick was discovered ; and hearing Arriguccio running after

Ruberto, she forthwith got up, foreboding what the result was like

to be, and called her maid, who was entirely in her confidence :

whom she so plied with her obsecrations that at last she got her into

bed in her room, beseeching her not to say who she was, but to

bear patiently all the blows that Arriguccio might give her j and

she would so reward her that she should have no reason to complain.

Then, extinguishing the light that was in the room, forth she hied

her, and having found a convenient hiding-place in the house,

awaited the turn of events. Now Arriguccio and Ruberto being

hotly engaged in the street, the neighbours, roused by the din of the

combat, got up and launched their curses upon them. Wherefore

Arriguccio, fearing lest he should be recognized, drew oft before he

had so much as discovered who the young gallant Was, or done himany scathe, and in a fell and wrathful mood betook him home.

Stumbling into the bedroom, he cried out angrily: — Where art

thou, lewd woman ? Thou hast put out the light, that I may not

be able to find thee ; but thou hast miscalculated. And going

to the bedside, he laid hold of the maid, taking her to be his wife,




and fell a pummelling and kicking her with all the strength he had

in his hands and feet, insomuch that he pounded her face well-nigh

to pulp, rating her the while like the vilest woman that ever was

and last of all he cut off her hair. The maid wept bitterly, as indeed

she well might ; and though from time to time she ejaculated an

Alas Mercy, for God's sake or Spare me, spare me ; yet

her voice was so broken by her sobs, and Arriguccio's hearing so

dulled by his wrath, that he was not able to discern that 'twas not

his wife's voice but that of another woman. So, having soundly

thrashed her, and cut off her hair, as we said :— Wicked woman,

quoth he, I touch thee no more ; but I go to find thy brothers,

and shall do them to wit of thy good works ; and then they maycome here, and deal with thee as they may deem their honour

demands, and take thee hence, for be sure thou shalt no more abide

in this house. With this he was gone, locking the door of the

room behind him, and quitted the house alone.

Now no sooner did Monna Sismonda, who had heard all that

passed, perceive that her husband was gone, than she opened the

door of the bedroom, rekindled the light, and finding her maid all

bruises and tears, did what she could to comfort her, and carried

her back to her own room, where, causing her to be privily waited

on and tended, she helped her so liberally from Arriguccio's ownstore, that she confessed herself content. The maid thus bestowed

in her room, the lady presently hied her back to her own, which she

set all in neat and trim order, remaking the bed, so that it might

appear as if it had not been slept in, relighting the lamp, and dressing

and tiring herself, until she looked as if she had not been abed that

night J then, taking with her a lighted lamp and some work, she sat

her down at the head of the stairs, and began sewing, while she

waited to see how the affair would end.

Arriguccio meanwhile had hied him with all speed straight from

the house to that of his wife's brothers, where by dint of much

knocking he made himself heard, and was admitted. The lady's

three brothers, and her mother, being informed that 'twas Arri-

guccio, got up, and having set lights a burning, came to him and

asked him on what errand he was come there at that hour, and

alone. Whereupon Arriguccio, beginning with the discovery of the

pack-thread attached to his lady's great toe, gave them the whole




narrative of his discoveries and doings down to the very end ; and

to clinch the whole matter, he put in their hands the locks whichhe had cut, as he believed, from his wife's head, adding that 'twas

now for them to come for her and deal with her on such wise as

they might deem their honour required, seeing that he would never-

more have her in his house. Firmly believing what he told them,the lady's brothers were very wroth with her, and having provided

themselves with lighted torches, set out with Arriguccio, and hied

them to his house with intent to scorn her, while their motherfollowed, weeping and beseeching now one, now another, not to

credit these matters so hastily, until they had seen or heard somewhat

more thereof ; for that the husband might have some other reasonto be wroth with her, and having ill-treated her, might have trumpedup this charge by way of exculpation, adding that, if true, 'twas

passing strange, for well she knew her daughter, whom she hadbrought up from her tenderest years, and much more to the like

effect.

However, being come to Arriguccio's house, they entered, andwere mounting the stairs, when Monna Sismonda, hearing them,called out : — Who is there ? Whereto one of the brothers re-

sponded : — Lewd woman, thou shalt soon have cause enough to

know who it is. Now Lord love us I quoth Monna Sismonda,

*' what would he be at ? Then, rising, she greeted them with :

Welcome, my brothers ; but what seek ye abroad at this hour, all

three of you ? They had seen her sitting and sewing with never asign of a blow on her face, whereas Arriguccio had averred that hehad pummelled her all over : wherefore their first impression wasone of wonder, and refraining the vehemence of their wrath, they

asked her what might be the truth of the matter which Arriguccio

laid to her charge, and threatened her with direful consequences, if

she should conceal aught. Whereto the lady : — What you wculdhave me tell you, quoth she, or what Arriguccio may have laid to

my charge, that know not I. Arriguccio could but gaze upon her,

as one that had taken leave of his wits, calling to mind how he had

pummelled her about the face times without number, and scratched

it for her, and mishandled her in all manner of ways, and there he

now saw her with no trace of aught of it all upon her. However, to

make a long story short, the lady's brothers told her what Arriguccio




had told them touching the pack-thread and the beating and all the

rest of it. Whereupon the lady turned to him with : — Alas, myhusband, what is this that I hear ? Why givest thou me, to thy owngreat shame, the reputation of a lewd woman, when such I am not,

and thyself the reputation of a wicked and cruel man, which thou

art not ? Wast thou ever to-night, I say not in my company, but so

much as in the house until now? Or when didst thou beat me?For my part I mind me not of it. Arriguccio began: — Howsayst thou, lewd woman ? Did we not go to bed together ? Did I

not come back, after chasing thy lover ? Did I not give thee bruises

not a few, and cut thy hair for thee ? But the lady interrupted

him, saying:

— Nay, thou didst not lie here to-night. But leavewe this, of which my true words are' my sole witness, and pass weto this of the beating thou sayst thou gavest me, and how thou didst

cut my hair. Never a beating had I from thee, and I bid all that

are here, and thee among them, look at me, and say if I have any trace

of a beating on my person ; nor should I advise thee to dare lay

hand upon me ; for, by the Holy Rood, I would spoil thy beauty for

thee. Nor didst thou cut my hair, for aught that I saw or felt

:

however, thou didst it, perchance, on such wise that I was not ware

thereof: so let me see whether 'tis cut or no. Then, unveiling

herself, she shewed that her hair was uncut and entire. Wherefore

her brothers and mother now turned to Arriguccio with : — Whatmeans this, Arriguccio ? This accords not with what thou gavest us

to understand thou hadst done j nor know we how thou wilt prove

the residue.

Arriguccio was lost, as it were, in a dream, and yet he would fain

have spoken ; but, seeing that what he had thought to prove wasotherwise, he essayed no reply. So the lady turning to her brothers

:

— I see, quoth she,' what he would have : he will not be satisfied

unless I do what I never would otherwise have done, to wit, give

you to know what a pitiful caitiff he is ; as now I shall not fail to do.

I make no manner of doubt that, as he has said, even so it befell, andso he did. How, you shall hear. This worthy man, to whom,worse luck you gave me to wife, a merchant, as he calls himself,

and as such would fain have credit, and who ought to be more tem-

perate than a religious, and more continent than a girl, lets scarce

an evening pass but he goes a boozing in the taverns, and consorting




with this or the other woman of the town ; and 'tis for me to await

his return until midnight or sometimes until matins, even as you nowfind me. I doubt not that, being thoroughly well drunk, he got himto bed with one of these wantons, and, awaking, found the pack-

thread on her foot, and afterwards did actually perform all these brave

exploits of which he speaks, and in the end came back to her, andbeat her, and cut her hair off, and being not yet quite recovered from

his debauch, believed, and, I doubt not, still believes, that 'twas I that

he thus treated ; and if you will but scan his face closely, you will

see that he is still half drunk. But, whatever he may have said about

me, I would have you account it as nothing more than the disordered

speech of a tipsy man ; and forgive him as I do. Whereupon thelady's mother raised no small outcry, saying : — By the Holy Rood,my daughter, this may not be A daughter, such as thou, to be

mated with one so unworthy of thee 1 The pestilent, insensate cur

should be slain on the spot A pretty state of things, indeed Why,he might have picked thee up from the gutter Now foul fall himbut thou shalt no more be vexed with the tedious drivel of a petty

dealer in ass's dung, some blackguard, belike, that came hither from

the country because he was dismissed the service of some petty squire,

clad in romagnole, with belfry-breeches, and a pen in his arse, and,

for thathe

hasa few pence, must needs have a gentleman's daughter,

and a fine lady to wife, and set up a coat of arms, and say : —' I amof the such and such,' and *my ancestors did thus and thus.* Ah

had my sons but followed my advice Thy honour were safe in

the house of the Counts Guidi, where they might have bestowed

thee, though thou hadst but a morsel of bread to thy dowry : but

they must needs give thee to this rare treasure, who, though better

daughter and more chaste there is none than thou in Florence, has

not blushed this very midnight and in our presence to call thee a

strumpet, as if we knew thee not. God's faith so I were heark-

ened to, he should shrewdly smart for it.'-* Then, turning to her

sons, she said : — My sons, I told you plainly enough that this ought

not to be. Now, have you heard how your worthy brother-in-law

treats your sister ? Petty twopenny trader that he is : were it for

me to act, as it is for you, after what he has said of her and done to

her, nought would satisfy or appease me, till I had rid the earth of

him. And were I a man, who am but a woman, none other but




myself should meddle with the affair. God's curse upon him, the

woeful, shameless sot Whereupon the young men, incensed by

what they had seen and heard, turned to Arriguccio, and after giving

him the soundest rating that ever was bestowed upon caitiff, con-

cluded as follows :— This once we pardon thee, witting thee to be

a drunken knave : but as thou boldest thy life dear, have a care that

henceforth we hear no such tales of thee ; for rest assured that if

aught of the kind do reach our ears, we will requite thee for both

turns. Which said, they departed. Arriguccio, standing there like

one dazed, not witting whether his late doings were actual fact or

but a dream, made no more words about the matter, but left his wife

in peace. Thus did she by her address not only escape imminentperil, but open a way whereby in time to come she was able to

gratify her passion to the full without any farther fear of her husband.



i6o DECAMERON. [seventh day.

,other. Of whom Lydia grew mighty enamoured, insomuch that

cfj/^. \ neither by day nor by night might her thoughts stray from him : but,

whether it was that Pyrrhus wist not her love, or would have none

of it, he gave no sign of recognition ; whereby the lady's suffering

waxing more, than she could bear, she made up her mind to declare

her love to him ; and having a chambermaid, Lusca by name, in

whom she placed great trust, she called her, and said :— Lusca,

tokens thou hast had from me of my regard that should ensure thy

obedience and loyalty ; wherefore have a care that what I shall

now tell thee reach the ears of none but him to whom I shall bid

thee impart it. Thou seest, Lusca, that I am in the prime of my

youth and lustihead, and have neither lack nor stint of all such thingsas folk desire, save only, to be brief, that I have one cause to repine,

1 to wit, that my husband's years so far outnumber my own. Where-

fore with that wherein young -ladies take most pleasure I am but ill

provided, and, as my desire is no less than theirs, 'tis now some while

since I determined that, if Fortune has shewn herself so little friendly

to me by giving me a husband so advanced in years, at least I will

not be mine own enemy by sparing to devise the means whereby myhappiness and health may be assured ; and that herein, as in all other

matters, my joy may be complete, I have chosen, thereto to minister

by his embraces, our Pyrrhus, deeming him more worthy than any

other man, and have so set my heart upon him that I am ever ill at

ease save when he is present either to my sight or to my mind, in-

somuch that, unless I forgather with him without delay, I doubt not

u that 'twill be the death of me. And so, if thou boldest my life dear,

thou wilt shew him my love on such wise as thou mayst deem best,

and make my suit to him that he be pleased to come to me, whenthou shalt go to fetch him. That gladly will I, replied the

chambermaid ; and as soon as she found convenient time and place,

she drew Pyrrhus apart, and, as best she knew how, conveyed her

lady's message to him. Which Pyrrhus found passing strange to

hear, for 'twas in truth a complete surprise to him, and he doubted

the lady did but mean to try him. Wherefore he presently, and with

some asperity, answered thus :— Lusca, believe I cannot that this

message comds from my lady : have a care, therefore, what thou

sayst, and if, perchance, it does come from her, I doubt she does not

mean it ; and if, perchance, she does mean it, why, then I am



NINTH STORY.] DECAMERON. i6i

honoured by my lord above what I deserve, and I would not for mylife do him such a wrong : so have a care never to speak of such

matters to me again. Lusca, nowise disconcerted by his uncom-pliant tone, rejoined :

— I shall speak to thee, Pyrrhus, of these and

all other matters, wherewith I may be commissioned by my lady, as

often as she shall bid me, whether it pleases or irks thee ; but thou

art a blockhead.

So, somewhat chafed, Lusca bore Pyrrhus' answer back to her

lady, who would fain have died, when she heard it, and some days

afterwards resumed the topic, saying : — Thou knowest, Lusca,

that 'tis not the first stroke that fells the oak ; wherefore, methinks,

thou wert best go back to this strange man, who is minded to evince

his loyalty at my expense, and choosing a convenient time, declare to

him all my passion, and do thy best endeavour that the affair be

carried through j for if it should thus lapse, 'twould be the death of

me ; besides which, he would think we had but trifled with him, and,

whereas 'tis his love we would have, we should earn his hatred. So,

after comforting the lady, the maid hied her in quest of Pyrrhus,

whom she found in a gladsome and propitious mood, and thus

addressed :— 'Tis not many days, Pyrrhus, since I declared to thee

how ardent is the flame with which thy lady and mine is consumed

for love of thee, and now again I do thee to wit thereof, and that, if

thou shalt not relent of the harshness that thou didst manifest the

other day, thou mayst rest assured that her life will be short : where-

fore I pray thee to be pleased to give her solace of her desire, and

shouldst thou persist in thy obduracy, I, that gave thee credit for not

a little sense, shall deem thee a great fool. How flattered thou

shouldst be to know thyself beloved above all else by a lady so

beauteous and high-born And how indebted shouldst thou feel thy-

self to Fortune, seeing that she has in store for thee a boon so great

and so suited to the cravings of thy youth, ay, and so like to be of

service to thee upon occasion of need Bethink thee, if there be

any of thine equals whose life is ordered more agreeably than thine

will be if thou but be wise. Which of them wilt thou find so well

furnished with arms and horses, clothes and money as thou shalt be, if

thou but give my lady thy love ? Receive, then, my words with

open mind ;. be thyself again ; bethink thee that 'tis Fortune's way to

confront a man but once with smiling mien and open lap, and, if he

VOL. II. M



i62 DECAMERON. [seventh day.

then accept not her bounty, he has but himself to blame, if afterward

he find himself in want, in beggary. Besides which, no such loyalty

is demanded between servants and their masters as between friends

and kinsfolk ; rather 'tis for servants, so far as they may, to behave

towards their masters as their masters behave towards them. Thinkest

thou, that, if thou hadst a fair wife or mother or daughter or sister

that found favour in Nicostratus' eyes, he would be so scrupulous on

the point of loyalty as thou art disposed to be in regard of his lady ?

Thou art a fool, if so thou dost believe. Hold it for certain, that, if

blandishments and supplications did not suffice, he would, whatever

thou mightest think of it, have recourse to force. Observe we, then,

towards them and theirs the same rule which they observe towardsus and ours. Take the boon that Fortune offers thee j repulse her

not ; rather go thou to meet her, and hail her advance j for be sure

that, if thou do not so, to say nought of thy lady's death, which will

certainly ensue, thou thyself wilt repent thee thereof so often that

thou wilt be fain of death.

Since he had last seen Lusca, Pyrrhus had repeatedly pondered

what she had said to him, and had made his mind up that, should she

come again, he would answer her in another sort, and comply in all

respects with the lady's desires, provided he might be assured that she

was not merely putting himto the proof; wherefore

he now madeanswer : — Lo, now, Lusca, I acknowledge the truth of all that thou

sayst J but, on the other hand, I know that my lord is not a little

wise and wary, and, as he has committed all his affairs to my charge,

I sorely misdoubt me that 'tis with his approbation, and by his advice,

and but to prove me, that Lydia does this : wherefore let her do three

things which I shall demand of her for my assurance, and then there

is nought that she shall crave of me, but I will certainly render her

prompt obedience. Which three things are these : —first, let her in

Nicostratus' presence kill his fine sparrow-hawk : then she must send

me a lock of Nicostratus' beard, and lastly one of his best teeth.

Hard seemed these terms to Lusca, and hard beyond measure to the

lady, but Love, that great fautor of enterprise, and master of stratagem,

gave her resolution to address herself to their performance : wherefore

through the chambermaid she sent him word that what he required of

her she would do, and that without either reservation or delay; and

therewithal she told him, that, as he deemed Nicostratus so wise, she




would contrive that they should enjoy one another in Nicostratus'

presence, and that Nicostratus should believe that 'twas a mere show.

Pyrrhus, therefore, anxiously expected what the lady would do. Somedays thus passed, and then Nicostratus gave a great breakfast, as was

his frequent wont, to certain gentlemen, and when the tables were

removed, the lady, robed in green samite, and richly adorned, came

forth of her chamber into the hall wherein they sate, and before the

eyes of Pyrrhus and all the rest of the company hied her to the perch,

on which stood the sparrow-hawk that Nicostratus so much prized,

and loosed him, anti, as if she were minded to carry him on her hand,

took him by the jesses and dashed him against the wall so that he

died. Whereupon : — Alas my lady, what hast thou done ?

exclaimed Nicostratus : but she vouchsafed no answer, save that,

turning to the gentlemen that had sate at meat with him, she said :

My lords, ill fitted were I to take vengeance on a king that had

done me despite, if I lacked the courage to be avenged on a sparrow-

hawk. You are to know that by this bird I have long been cheated

of all the time that ought to be devoted by gentlemen to pleasuring

their ladies ; for with the first streaks of dawn Nicostratus has been

up and got him to horse, and hawk on hand hied him to the cham-

paign to see him fly, leaving me, such as you see me, alone and ill

content abed. For which cause I have oftentimes been minded todo that which I have now done, and have only refrained therefrom,

that, biding my time, I might do it in the presence of men that

should judge my cause justly, as I trust you will do. Which hearing,

the gentlemen, who deemed her affections no less fixed on Nicos-

tratus than her words imported, broke with one accord into a laugh,

and turning to Nicostratus, who was sore displeased, fell a saying :

Now well done of the lady to avenge her wrongs by the death of

the sparrow-hawk and so, the lady being withdrawn to her cham-

ber, they passed the affair off with divers pleasantries, turning the

wrath of Nicostratus to laughter.

Pyrrhus, who had witnessed what had passed, said to himself:

Nobly indeed has my lady begun, and on such wise as promises well

for the felicity of my love. God granr that she so continue. Andeven so Lydia did: for not many days after she had killed the

sparrow-hawjc, she, being with Nicostratus in her chamber, from

caressing passed to toying and trifling with him, and he, sportively




pulling her by the hair, gave her occasion to fulfil the second of

Pyrrhus' demands ; which she did by nimbly laying hold of one of

the lesser tufts of his beard, and, laughing the while, plucking it so

hard that she tore it out of his chin. Which Nicostratus somewhatresenting: — Now what cause hast thou, quoth she, to make such

a wry face ? 'Tis but that I have plucked some half-dozen hairs

from thy beard. Thou didst not feel it as much as did I but nowthy tugging of my hair. And so they continued jesting and

sporting with one another, the lady jealously guarding the tuft that

she had torn from the beard, which the very same day she sent

to her cherished lover. The third demand caused the lady more

thought J but, being amply endowed with wit, and powerfully

seconded by Love, she failed not to hit upon an apt expedient.

Nicostratus had in his service two lads, who, being of gentle

birth, had been placed with him by their kinsfolk, that they might

learn manners, one of whom, when Nicostratus sate at meat,

carved before him, while the other gave him to drink. Both lads

Lydia called to her, and gave them to understand that their breath

smelt, and admonished them that, when they waited on Nicostratus,

they should hold their heads as far back as possible, saying never

a word of the matter to any. The lads believing her, did as she

bade them. Whereupon she took occasion to say to Nicostratus: Hast thou marked what these lads do when they wait upon thee ?

Troth, that have I, replied Nicostratus; indeed I have often

had it in mind to ask them why they do so. Nay, rejoined the

lady, spare thyself the pains ; for I can tell thee the reason, which

I have for some time kept close, lest it should vex thee; but as I

now see that others begin to be ware of it, it need no longer be

withheld from thee. 'Tis for that thy breath stinks shrewdly that

they thus avert their heads from thee: 'twas not wont to be so,

nor know I why it should be so; and 'tis most offensive when thou

art in converse with gentlemen; and therefore 'twould be well to

find some way of curing it. I wonder what it could be,

returned Nicostratus; is it perchance that I have a decayed tooth

in my jaw ? That may well be, quoth Lydia: and taking him

to a window, she caused him open his mouth, and after regarding

it on this side and that: — Oh Nicostratus, quoth she, howcouldst thou have endured it so long ? Thou hast a tooth here,




which, by what I see, is not only decayed, but actually rotten

throughout ; and beyond all manner of doubt, if thou let it remainlong in thy head, 'twill infect its neighbours; so 'tis my advice that

thou out with it before the matter grows worse. My judgment

jumps with thine, quoth Nicostratus; wherefore send without

delay for a chirurgeon to draw it. God forbid, returned the

lady, that chirurgeon come hither for such a purpose; methinks,

the case is such that I can very well dispense with him, and drawthe tooth myself. Besides which, these chirurgeons do these things

in such a cruel way, that I could never endure to see thee or knowthee under the hands of any of them: wherefore my mind is quite

made up to doit

myself,that,

atleast, if

thou shalt suffer too much,I may give it over at once, as a chirurgeon would not do. And sc

she caused the instruments that are used on such occasions to be

brought her, and having dismissed all other attendants save Lusca

from the chamber, and locked the door, made Nicostratus lie downon a table, set the pincers in his mouth, and clapped them on one

of his teeth, which, while Lusca held him, so that, a lbei t he roared

for pain, he might not move, she wrenched by main force from his

jaw, and keeping it close, took from Lusca's hand another and

horribly decayed tooth, which she shewed him, suflFering and half

dead as he was, saying : —** See what thou hadst in thy jaw ; markhow far gone it is. Believing what she said, and deeming that,

now the tooth was out, his breath would no more be offensive, and

being somewhat eased of the pain, which had been extreme, and still

remained, so that he murmured not little, by divers comforting

applications, he quitted the chamber : whereupon the lady forthwith

sent the tooth to her lover, who, having now full assurance of her

love, placed himself en tirely at her service. But the lady being

minded to make his assurance yet more sure, and deeming each

hour a thousand till she might be with him, now saw fit, for the

more ready performance of the promise she had given him, to feign

sickness; and Nicostratus, coming to see her one day after breakfast,

attended only by Pyrrhus, she besought him for her better solacement,

to help her down to the garden. Wherefore Nicostratus on one

side, and Pyrrhus on the other, took her and bore her down to the

garden, and set her on a lawn at the foot of a beautiful pear-tree:

and after they had sate tiiere a while, the lady, who had already



1 66 DECAMERON. [seventh day.

given Pyrrhus to understand what he must do, said to him :

Pyrrhus, I should greatly like to have some of those pears ; get

thee up the tree, and shake some of them down. Pyrrhus climbed

the tree in a trice, and began to shake down the pears, and while he

did so : — Fie Sir, quoth he, what is this you do ? And you,

Madam, have you no shame, that you suffer him to do so in mypresence ? Think you that I am blind r 'Twas but now that you

were gravely indisposed. Your cure has been speedy indeed to

permit of your so behaving: and as for such a purpose you have

so many goodly chambers, why betake you not yourselves to one

of them, if you must needs so disport yourselves ? 'T would be

muchmore decent than to do so in my presence. Whereupon the

lady, turning to her husband : — Now what can Pyrrhus mean ?

said she. ' Is he mad ? Nay, Madam, quoth Pyrrhus; madam not I. Think you I see you not ? Whereat Nicostratus

marvelled not a little; and: — Pyrrhus, quoth he, I verily believe

thou dreamest. Nay, my lord, replied Pyrrhus, not a whit do

I dream ; neither do you ; rather you wag it with such vigour, that,

if this pear-tree did the like, there would be never a pear left on it.

Then the lady : — What can this mean ? quoth she : can it be

that it really seems to him to be as he says ? Upon my hope of

salvation, were I but in my former health, I would get me up there

to judge for myself what these wonders are which he professes to

see, Whereupon, as Pyrrhus in the pear-tree continued talking

in the same strange strain: — Come down, quoth Nicostratus;

and when he was down : — Now what, said Nicostratus, is it

thou sayst thou seest up there ? I suppose, replied Pyrrhus,

that you take me to be deluded or dreaming : but as I must needs

tell you the truth, I saw you lying upon your wife, and then, when I

came down, I saw you get up and sit you down here where you noware. Therein, said Nicostratus, thou wast certainly deluded,

for, since thou clombest the pear-tree, we have not budged a jot, save

as thou seest, Then said Pyrrhus :

— Why make more wordsabout the matter? See you I certainly did; and, seeing you, I

saw you lying upon your own. Nicostratus' wonder now waxed

momently, insomuch that he said : — I am minded to see if this

pear-tree be enchanted, so that whoso is in it sees marvels; and

so he got him up into it. Whereupon the lady and Pyrrhus fell




to disporting them, and Nicostratus, seeing what they were about,

exclaimed: — Ah lewd woman, what is this thou doest ^ Andthou, Pyrrhus, in whom I so much trusted And so saying, he

began to climb down. Meanwhile the lady and Pyrrhus had made

answer: — We are sitting here: and seeing him descending, they

placed themselves as they had been when he had left them, whomNicostratus, being come down, no sooner saw, than he fell a

rating them. Then quoth Pyrrhus :— Verily, Nicostratus, I

now acknowledge, that, as you said a while ago, what I saw whenI was in the pear-tree was but a false show, albeit I had never

understood that so it was but that I now see and know that thou

hast also seen a false show. And that I speak truth, you maysufficiently assure yourself, if you but reflect whether 'tis likely that

your wife, who for virtue and discretion has not her peer amongwomen, would, if she were minded so to dishonour you, see fit to

do so before your very eyes. Of myself I say nought, albeit I had

liefer be hewn in pieces than that I should so much as think of such

a thing, much less do it in your presence. Wherefore 'tis evident

that 'tis some illusion of sight that is propagated from the pear-tree

for nought in the world would have made me believe that I saw not

you lying there in carnal intercourse with your wife, had I not heard

you say that you saw me doing that which most assuredly, so far

from doing, I never so much as thought of. The lady then started

up with a most resentful mien, and burst out with : — Foul fall

thee, if thou knowest so little of me as to suppose that, if I were

minded to do thee such foul dishonour as thou sayst thou didst see

me do, J would come hither to do it before thine eyes Rest

assured that for such a purpose, were it ever mine, I should deem

one of our chambers more meet, and it should go hard but I would

so order the matter that thou shouldst never know aught of it.

Nicostratus, having heard both, and deeming that what they both

averred must be true, to wit, that they would never have ventured

upon such an act in his presence, passed from chiding to talk of the

singularity of the thing, and how marvellous it was that the vision

should reshape itself for every one that clomb the tree. The lady,

however, made a show of being distressed that Nicostratus should so

have thought of her, and : — Verily, quoth she, no woman,

neither I nor another, shall again suffer loss of honour by this



i68 DECAMERON. [seventh day.

pear-tree : run, Pyrrhus, and bring hither an axe, and at one and

the same time vindicate thy honour and mine by felling it, albeit

'twere better far Nicostratus' skull should feel the weight of the

axe, seeing that in utter heedlessness he so readily suffered the eyes

of his mind to be blinded ; for, albeit th is vision was seen by the

bodily eye, yet ought the understanding by no means to have

entertained and affirmed it as real.

So Pyrrhus presently hied him to fetch the axe, and returning

therewith felled the pearj whereupon the lady, turning towards

Nicostratus : — Now that this foe of my honour is fallen, quoth

she, my wrath is gone from me. Nicostratus then craving her

pardon, she graciously granted it him, bidding him never again to

suffer himself to be betrayed into thinking such a thing of her, wholoved him more dearly than herself. So the poor duped husband

went back with her and her lover to the palace, where not seldom in

time to come Pyrrhus and Lydia took their pastime together more at

ease. God grant us the like.



NOVEL X.

Two Sienese love a lady^ one of them being her gossip: the

gossip dies^ having promised his comrade to return to

him from the other world ; which he does, and tells

him what sort of life is led there.

None now was left to tell, save the king, who, as soon as the

ladies had ceased mourning over the fall of the pear-tree, that haddone no wrong, and were silent, began thus : —Most manifest it is

that 'tis the prime duty of a just king to observe the laws that he has

made ; and, if he do not so, he is to be esteemed no king, but a slave

that has merited punishment, into which fault, and under whichcondemnation, I, your king, must, as of necessity, fall. For, indeed,

when yesterday I made the law which governs our discourse of to-day,

I thought not to-day to avail myself of my privilege, but to submitto the law, no less than you, and to discourse of the same topic

whereof you all have discoursed ; but not only has the very story

been told which I had intended to tell, but therewithal so manythings else, and so very much goodlier have been said, that, search

my memory as I may, I cannot mind me of aught, nor wot I that

touching such a matter there is indeed aught, for me to say, that

would be comparable with what has been saidj wherefore, as infringe

I must the law that I myself have made, I confess myself worthy of

punishment, and instantly declaring my readiness to pay any forfeit

that may be demanded of me, am minded to have recourse to mywonted privilege. And such, dearest ladies, is the potency of Elisa's

story of the godfather and his gossip, and therewith of the simplicity

of the Sienese, that I am prompted thereby to pass from this topic

of the beguilement of foolish husbands by their cunning wives to a



1 70 DECAMERON. [seventh day.

little story touching these same Sienese, which, albeit there is not

a little therein which you were best not to believe, may yet be in

some degree entertaining :o hear.

Know, then, that at Siena there dwelt in Porta Salaia two young

men of the people, named, the one, Tingoccio Mini, the other

Meuccio di Tura, who, by what appeared, loved one another not

a little, for they were scarce ever out of one another's company ; and

being wont, like other folk, to go to church and listen to sermons,

they heard from time to time of the glory and the woe, which in the

other world are allotted, according to merit, to the souls of the dead.

Of which matters craving, but being unable to come by, morecertain assurance, they agreed together that, whichever of themshould die first, should, if he might, return to the survivor, and certify

him of that which he would fain know; and this agreement they

confirmed with an oath. Now, after they had made this engagement,

and while they were still constantly together, Tingoccio chanced to

become sponsor to one Ambruogio Anselmini, that dwelt in CampoReggi, who had had a son by his wife, Monna Mita. The lady was

exceeding fair, and amorous withal, and Tingoccio being wont some-

times to visit her as his gossip, and to take Meuccio with him, he,*

notwithstanding his sponsorship, grew enamoured of her, as did also

Meuccio, for she pleased him not a little, and he heard her muchcommended by Tingoccio. Which love each concealed from the

other J but not for the same reason. Tingoccio was averse to

discover it to Meuccio, for that he deemed it an ignominious thing

to love his gossip, and was ashamed to let any one know it. Meuccio

was on his guard for a very, different reason, to wit, that he was

already ware that the lady was in Tingoccio's good graces. Where-fore he said to himself : —If I avow my love to him, he will be

jealous of me, and as, being her gossip, he can speak with her as

often as he pleases, he will do all he can to make her hate me, and so

I shall never have any favour of her.

Now, the two young men being thus, as I have said, on termsof most familiar friendship, it befell that Tingoccio, being the better

able to open his heart to the lady, did so order his demeanour and

discourse that he had from her all that he desired. Nor was his

friend's success hidden from Meuccio ; though, much as it vexed

him, yet still cherishing the hope of eventually attaining his end, and



TENTH 8TORV.] DECAMERON. 171

fearing to give Tingoccio occasion to baulk or hamper him in some

way, he feigned to know nought of the matter. So Tingoccio, morefortunate than his comrade, and rival in love, did with such assiduity

till his gossip's good land that he got thereby a malady, which in the

course of some days waxed so grievous that he succumbed thereto,

and departed this life. And on the night of the third day after his

decease (perchance because earlier he might not) he made his appear-

ance, according to his promise, in Meuccio's chamber, and called

Meuccio, who was fast asleep, by his name. Whereupon :— Who

art thou ? quoth Meuccio, as he awoke. • 'Tis I, Tingoccio,

replied he, come back, in fulfilment of the pledge I gave thee, to

give thee tidings of the other world. For a while Meuccio saw himnot without terror: then, his courage reviving ; — Welcome, mybrother,** quoth he : and proceeded to ask him if he were lost.

Nought is lost but what is irrecoverable, replied Tingoccio : howthen should I be here, if I were lost ? Nay, quoth then Meuccio; I mean it not so : I would know of thee, whether thou art of the

number of the souls that are condemned to the penal fire. of hell.

Why no, returned Tingoccio, not just that ; but still for the

sins that I did I am in most sore and grievous torment. Meucciothen questioned Tingoccio in detail of the pains there meted out for

each of the sins done here ; and Tingoccio enumerated them all.

Whereupon Meuccio asked if there were aught he might do for himhere on earth. Tingoccio answered in the affirmative ; to wit, that

he might have masses and prayers said and alms-deeds done for him,

for that such things were of great service to the souls there. Thatgladly will I, replied Meuccio ; and then, as Tingoccio was about to

take his leave, he bethought him of the gossip, and raising his head a

little, he said : — I mind me, Tingoccio, of the gossip, with whomthou wast wont to lie when thou wast here. Now what is thy

punishment for that? My brother, returned Tingoccio, assoon as I got down there, I met one that seemed to know all mysins by heart, who bade me betake me to a place, where, while in

direst torment I bewept my sins, I found comrades not a few con-

demned to the same pains ; and so, standing there among them, andcalling to mind what I had done with the gossip, and foreboding in

requitdl thereof a much greater torment than had yet been allotted

me, albeit I was in a great and most vehement flame, I quaked for




fear in every part of me. Which one that w^as beside me observing :

' What,' quoth he, ' hast thou done more than the rest of us that are

here, that thou quakest thus as thou standest in the fire ?' * My

friend,' quoth I, ' I am in mortal fear of the doom that I expect for

a great sin that I once committed.' He then asked what sin it

might be. ' 'Twas on this wise,' replied I :* I lay with my gossip,

and that so much that I died thereof.' Whereat, he did but laugh,

saying : —'Go to, fool, make thy mind easy ; for here there is no

account taken of gossips.' Which completely revived my drooping

spirits.

'Twas now near daybreak : wherefore :— Adieu Meuccio,

quoth his friend : for longer tarry with thee I may .not ;

and sohe vanished. As for Meuccio, having learned that no account was

taken of gossips in the other world, he began to laugh at his ownfolly in that he had already spared divers such j and so, being quit

of his ignorance, he in that respect in course of time waxed wise.

Which matters had Fra Rinaldo but known, he would not have

needed to go about syllogizing in order to bring his fair gossip to

pleasure him.

The sun was westering, and a light breeze blew, when the king,

his story ended, and none else being left to speak, arose, and taking

ofFthe crown, set it on Lauretta's head, saying: — Madam, I crown

you with yourself^ queen of our company : 'tis now for you, as our

sovereign lady, to make such ordinances as you shall deem meet for

our common solace and delectation ; and having so said, he sat him

down again. Queen Lauretta sent for the seneschal, and bade him

have a care that the tables should be set in the pleasant vale some-

what earlier than had been their wont, that their return to the palace

might be more leisurely ; after which she gave him to know what

else he had to do during her sovereignty. Then turning to the com-

pany : — Yesterday, quoth she, Dioneo would have it that to-day

we should discourse of the tricks that wives play their husbands j and

but that I am minded not to shew as of the breed of yelping curs,

that are ever prompt to retaliate, I would ordain that to-morrow wediscourse of the tricks that husbands play their wives. However, in

lieu thereof, I will have every one take thought to tell of those tricks

1 A play upon laurea (laurel wreath) and Lauretta.




that, daily, woman plays man, or man woman, or one man another ;

wherein, I doubt not, there will be matter of discourse no less agree-

able than has been that of to-day.'* So saying, she rose and dismissed

the company until supper-time. So the ladies and the men being

risen, some bared their feet and betook them to the clear water, there

to disport them, while others took their pleasure upon the green lawn

amid the trees that there grew goodly and straight. For no brief

while Dioneo and Fiammetta sang in concert of Arciteand Palamon.

And so, each and all taking their several pastimes, they sped the

hours with exceeding great delight until supper-time. Which being

come, they sat them down at table beside the little lake, and there,

while a thousand songsters charmed their ears, and a gentle breeze,

that blew from the environing hills, fanned them, and never a fly

annoyed them, reposefully and joyously they supped. The tables

removed, they roved a while about the pleasant vale, and then, the

sun being still high, for 'twas but half vespers, the queen gave the

word, and they wended their way back to their wonted abode, and

going slowly, and beguiling the way with quips and quirks without

number upon divers matters, nor those alone of which they had that

day discoursed, they arrived, hard upon nightfall, at the goodly palace.

There, the short walk's fatigue dispelled by wines most cool and

comfits, they presently gatheredfor

thedance about the fair fountain,

and now they footed it to the strains of Tindaro's cornemuse, and

now to other music. Which done, the queen bade Filomena give

them a song ; and thus Filomena sang :

Ah woe is me, my soul

Ah shall I ever thither fere again

Whence I was parted to my grievous dole ?

Full sure I know not ; but within my breast

Throbs ever the same fire

Ofyearning there where erst I was to be.

O thou in whom is all my weal, my rest,

Lord of my heart's desire.

Ah tell me thou for none to ask save thee

Neither dare I, nor see.

Ah dear my Lord, this wasted heart disdain

Thou wilt not, but with hope at length console.



174 .DECAMERON. [seventh day.

Kindled the flame I know not what delight,

Which me doth so devour,

That day and night alike I find no ease ;

For whether it was by hearing, touch, or sight,

Unwonted was the power.

And fresh the fire that me each way did seize

Wherein without release

I languish still, and of thee. Lord, am fain.

For thou alone canst comfort and make whole.

Ah tell me if it shall be, and how soon.

That I again thee meet

Where those death-dealing eyes I kissed. Thou, chief

Weal of my soul, my very soul, this boon

Deny not ; say that fleet

Thou hiest hither : comfort thus my grief.

Ah let the time be brief

Till thou art here, and then long time remain;

For I, Love-stricken, crave but Love's control.

Let me but once again mine own thee call,

No more so indiscreet

As erst, I'll be, to let thee from me part:

Nay, I'll still hold thee, let what may befall,

And of thy mouth so sweet

Such solace take as may content my heart

So this be all my art.

Thee to entice, me with thine arms to enchain

Whereon but musing inly chants my soul.

This song set all the company conjecturing what new and delight-

some love might now hold Filomena in its sway ; and as its words

imported that she had had more joyance thereof than sight alone

might yield, some that were there grew envious of her excess of

happiness. However, the song being ended, the queen, bethinking

her that the morrow was Friday, thus graciously addressed them

all: — Ye wot, noble ladies, and ye also, my gallants, that to-morrow

is the day that is sacred to the passion of our Lord, which, if ye

remember, we kept devoutly when Neifile was queen, intermitting

delectable discourse, as we did also on the ensuing Saturday. Where-




fore, being minded to follow Nei file's excellent example, I deem that

now, as then, 'twere a seemly thing to surcease from this our pastime

of story-telling for those two days, and compose our minds to medita-

tion on what was at that season accomplished for the weal of our

souls. All the company having approved their queen's devout

speech, she, as the night was now far spent, dismissed them ; and so

they all betook them to slumber.



Endeth here the seventh day of the Decameron, beginneth

the eighth, in which, under the rule of Lauretta, dis-

course is had of those tricks that, daily, woman plays

man, or man woman, or one man another.

The summits of the loftiest mountains were already illumined by

the rays of the rising sun, the shades of night were fled, and all things

plainly visible, when the queen and her company arose, and hied

them first to the dewy mead, where for a while they walked : then,

about half tierce, they wended their way to a little church that

was hard by, where they heard Divine service ; after which, they

returned to the palace, and having breakfasted with gay and glad-

some cheer, and sung and danced a while, were dismissed by the

queen, to rest them as to each might seem good. But when the sun

was past the meridian, the queen mustered them again for their

wonted pastime ; and, all being seated by the fair fovmtain, thus, at

her command, Neifile began.

176



NOVEL I.

Gulfardo borrows moneys of Guasparruolo, which he has

agreed to give Guasparruold s wife^ that he may lie

with her. He gives them to her, and in her presence

tells Guasparruolo that he has done so, and she

acknowledges that 'tis true.

SiTH God has ordained that 'tis for me to take the lead to-day with

my story, well pleased am I. And for that, loving ladies, much has

been said touching the tricks that women play men, I am minded to

tell you of one that a man played a woman, not because I would

censure what the man did, or say that 'twas not merited by the

woman, but rather to commend the man and censure the woman,and to shew that men may beguile those that think to beguile them,

as well as be beguiled by those they think to beguile ; for peradven-

ture what I am about to relate should in strictness of speech not be

termed beguilement, but rather retaliation ; for, as it behoves womanto be most strictly virtuous, and to guard her chastity as her very life,

nor on any account to allow herself to sully it, which notwithstanding,

'tis not possible by reason of our frailty that there should be as perfect

an observance of this law as were meet, I affirm, that she that allows

herself to infringe it for money merits the fire \ whereas she that so

offends under the prepotent stress of Love will receive pardon from

any judge that knows how to temper justice with mercy : witnesswhat but the other day we heard from Filostrato touching MadonnaFilippa at Prato.^

Know, then, that there was once at Milan a German mercenary,

Gulfardo by name, a doughty man, and very loyal to those with

1 Cf. Sixth Day, Novel VII.

VOL. II. 177 N



178 DECAMERON. [eighth day.

whom he took service ; a quality most uncommon in Germans.

And as he was wont to be most faithful in repaying whatever moneys

he borrowed, he would have had no difficulty in finding a merchant

to advance him any amount of money at a low rate of interest.

Now, tarrying thus at Milan, Gulfardo fixed his affection on a very

fine woman, named Madonna Amljruogia, the wife of a wealthy

merchant, one Guasparruolo Cagastraccio, with whom he was well

acquainted and on friendly terms : which amour he managed with

such discretion that neither the husband nor any one else wist aught

of it. So one day he sent her a message, beseeching her of her

courtesy to gratify his passion, and assuring her that he on his part

was ready to obey her every behest.

The lady made a great many words about the afl'air, the upshot

of which was that she would do as Gulfardo desired upon the follow-

ing terms : to wit, that, in the first place, he should never discover

the matter to a soul, and, secondly, that, as for some purpose or another

she required two hundred florins of gold, he out of his abundance

should supply her necessity j these conditions being satisfied she

would be ever at his service. Offended by such base sordidness in

one whom he had supposed to be an honourable woman, Gulfardo

passed from ardent love to something very like hatred, and cast about

how he mightflout her. So he sent her word that he would right

gladly pleasure her in this and in any other matter that might be in

his power ; let her but say when he was to come to see her, and he

would bring the moneys with him, and none should know of the

matter except a comrade of his, in whom he placed much trust, and

who was privy to all that he did. The lady, if she should not rather

be called the punk, gleefully made answer that in the course of a few

days her husband, Guasparruolo, was to go to Genoa on business, and

that, when he was gone, she would let Gulfardo know, and appoint a

time for him to visit her. Gulfardo thereupon chose a convenient

time, and hied him to Guasparruolo, to whom :— I am come,

quoth he, about a little matter of business which I have on hand,

for which I require two hundred florins of gold, and I should be glad

if thou wouldst lend them me at the rate of interest which thou

art wont to charge me. That gladly will I, replied Guasparruolo,

and told out the money at once. A few days later Guasparruolo

being gone to Genoa, as the lady had said, she sent word to Gulfardo




that he should bring her the two hundred florins of gold. So Gul-

fardo hied him with his comrade to the lady's house, where he found

her expecting him, and lost no time in handing her the twohundred florins of gold in his comrade's presence, saying :

—** Youwill keep the money, Madam, and give it to your husband when he

returns. Witting not why Gulfardo so said, but thinking that 'twas

but to conceal from his comrade that it was given by way of price,

the lady made answer :— That will I gladly ; but I must first sec

whether the amount is right;

whereupon she told the florins out

upon a table, and when she found that the two hundred were there,

she put them away in high glee, and turning to Gulfardo, took him

into her chamber, where, not on that night only but on manyanother night, while her husband was away, he had of her all that

he craved. On Guasparruolo's return Gulfardo presently paid him a

visit, having first made sure that the lady would be with him, and so

in her presence :—

'* Guasparruolo, quoth he, I had after all no

occasion for the money, to wit, the two hundred florins of gold that

thou didst lend me the other day, being unable to carry through the

transaction for which I borrowed them, and so I took an early oppor-

tunity of bringing them to thy wife, and gave them to her : thou

wilt therefore cancel the account. Whereupon Guasparruolo

turned to the lady, and asked her if she had had them. She, notdaring to deny the fact in presence of the witness, answered :

Why, yes, I had them, and quite forgot to tell thee. Good,

quoth then Guasparruolo, we are quits, Gulfardo; make thy mind

easy ; I will see that thy account is set right. Gulfardo then

withdrew, leaving the flouted lady to hand over her ill-gotten gains

to her husband ; and so the astute lover had his pleasure of his greedy

piistress for nothing.



NOVEL II.

T^he priest of Varlungo lies with Monna Belcolore : he

leaves with her his cloak by way of pledge, andreceives from her a mortar. He returns the mortar,

and demands of her the cloak that he had left in pledge,

which the good lady returns him with a gibe.

Ladies and men alike commended Gulfardo for the check that

he gave to the greed of the Milanese lady ; but before they had

done, the queen turned to Pamfilo, and with a smile bade him follow

suit : wherefore thus Pamfilo began : —Fair my ladies, it occurs to

me to tell you a short story, which reflects no credit on those by

whom we are continually wronged without being able to retaliate, to

wit, the priests, who have instituted a crusade against our wives, and

deem that, when they have made conquest of one of them, they have

done a work every whit as worthy of recompense by remission of sin

and punishment as if they had brought the Soldan in chains to Avig-

non : in which respect 'tis not possible for the hapless laity to be

even with them : howbeit they are as hot to make reprisals on the

priests' mothers, sisters, mistresses, and daughters as the priests to

attack their wives. Wherefore I am minded to give you, as I maydo in few words, the history of a rustic amour, the conclusion whereof

was not a little laughable, nor barren of moral, for you may also

gather therefrom, that 'tis not always well to believe everythingthat a priest says.

I say then, that at Varlungo, a village hard by here, as all of you,

my ladies, should wot either of your own knowledge or by report,

there dwelt a worthy priest, and doughty of body in the service of

the ladies : who, albeit he was none too quick at his book, had no180



SECOND STORV.] DECAMERON. i8i

lack of precious and blessed solecisms to edify his flock withal of a

Sunday under the elm. And when the men were out of doors, he

would visit their wives as never a priest had done before him, bringing

them feast-day gowns and holy water, and now and again a bit of

candle, and giving them his blessing. Now it so befell that amongthose of his fair parishioners whom he most affected the first place

was at length taken by one Monna Belcolore, the wife of a husband-

man that called himself Bentivegna del Mazzo. And in good sooth

she was a winsome and lusty country lass, brown as a berry and

buxom enough, and fitter than e'er another for his mill. Moreover

she had not her match in playing the tabret and singing : —The

borage is full sappy,^ and in leading a brawl or a breakdown, nomatter who might be next her, with a fair and dainty kerchief in her

hand. Which spells so wrought upon Master Priest, that for love

of her he grew distracted, and did nought all day long but loiter

about the village on the chance of catching sight of her. And if of

a Sunday morning he espied her in church, he strove might and main

to acquit himself of his Kyrie and Sanctus in the style of a great

singer, albeit his performance was liker to the braying of an ass :

whereas, if he saw her not, he scarce exerted himself at all. How-ever, he managed with such discretion that neither Bentivegna del

Mazzonor

any of the neighbourswist

aught of his love. Andhoping thereby to ingratiate himself with Monna Belcolore, he from

time to time would send her presents, now a clove of fresh garlic, the

best in all the country-side, from his own garden, which he tilled with

his own hands, and anon a basket of beans or a bunch of chives or

shallots ; and, when he thought it might serve his turn, he would

^ For this folk-song see Cant'dene e Ballate^ Strambotti e Madr'tgaiif ed.

Carducci ( 1 87 i ), p. 60. The fragment there printed may be freely rendered

as follows :

The borage is full sappy,

And clusters red we see,

And my love would make me happySo that maiden give to me.

Ill set I find this dance,

And better might it be :

So, comrade mine, advance.

And, changing place with me,Stand thou thy love beside.



i82 DECAMERON. [eighth day.

give her a sly glance, and follow it up with a little amorous mockingand mowing, which she, with rustic awkwardness, feigned not to

understand, and ever maintained her reserve, so that Master Priest

made no headway.

Now it so befell that one day, when the priest at high noon was

aimlessly gadding about the village, he encountered Bentivegna del

Mazzo at the tail of a well laden ass, and greeted him, asking himwhither he was going. I'faith, Sir, quoth Bentivegna, for sure

'tis to town I go, having an affair or two to attend to there ; and I

am taking these things to Ser Buonaccorri da Ginestreto, to get him

to stand by me in I wot not what matter, whereof the justice

o' th' coram has by his provoker served me with a pertrumperysummons to appear before him. Whereupon : — 'Tis well, myson, quoth the priest, overjoyed, my blessing go with thee : good

luck to thee and a speedy return j and harkye, shouldst thou see

Lapuccio or Naldino, do not forget to tell them to send me those

thongs for my flails. It shall be done, quoth Bentivegna, and

jogged on towards Florence, while the priest, thinking that now was

his time to hie him to Belcolore and try his fortune, put his best

leg forward, and stayed not till he was at the house, which entering,

he said : — God be gracious to us Who is within ? Belcolore,

who was up in the loft, made answer :— Welcome, Sir ; but what

dost thou, gadding about in the heat ?'* Why, as I hope for

God's blessing, quoth he, I am just come to stay with thee a

while, having met thy husband on his way to town. Whereupondown came Belcolore, took a seat, and began sifting cabbage-seed

that her husband had lately threshed. By and by the priest began :

— So, Belcolore, wilt thou keep me ever a dying thus ? Whereat

Belcolore tittered, and said : — Why, what is't I do to you ?

Truly, nothing at all, replied the priest : but thou sufFerest menot to do to thee that which I had lief, and which God commands.*' Now away with you returned Belcolore, do priests do that

sort of thing ? *' Indeed we do, quoth the priest, and to better

purpose than others : why not ? I tell you our grinding is far

better ; and wouldst thou know why ? 'tis because 'tis intermittent.

And in truth 'twill be well worth thy while to keep thine owncounsel, and let me do it. Worth my while ejaculated

Belcolore. How may that be ? There is never a one of you but




would overreach the very Devil.'* 'Tis not for me to say,**

returned the priest ; say but what thou wouldst have: shall it bea pair of dainty shoes ? Or wouldst thou prefer a fillet ? Orperchance a gay riband ? What's thy will ? Marry, no lack

have I, quoth Belcolore, of such things as these. But, if you

wish me so well, why do me not a service ? and I would then be

at your command. Name but the service, returned the priest,

and gladly will I do it. Quoth then Belcolore : — On Saturday

I have to go to Florence to deliver some wool that I have spun,

and to get my spinning-wheel put in order : lend me but five

pounds —I know you have them —and I will redeem my perse

petticoatfrom

the pawnshop,and also

the girdlethat

Iwear on

saints' days, and that I had when I was married —you see that

without them I cannot go to church or anywhere else, and then I

will do just as you wish thenceforth and forever. Whereupon :

So God give me a good year,'* quoth he, as I have not the

money with me : but never fear that I will see that thou hast it

before Saturday with all the pleasure in life. Ay, ay, rejoined

Belcolore, you all make great promises, but then you never keep

them. Think you to serve me as you served Biliuzza, whom you

left in the lurch at last ? God's faith, you do not so. To think

that she turned woman of the world just for that I If you have

not the money with you, why, go and get it.** Prithee, returned

the priest, send me not home just now. For, seest thou, 'tis the

very nick of time with me, and the coast is clear, and perchance it

might not be so on my return, and in short I know not when it

would be likely to go so well as now. Whereto she did but

rejoin :— Good ; if you are minded to go, get you gone ; if not,

stay where you are. The priest, therefore, seeing that she was

not disposed to give him what he wanted, as he was fain, to wit, onhis own terms, but was bent upon having a quid pro quo^ changed

his tone ; and : — Lo, now, quoth he, thou doubtest I will not

bring thee the money ; so to set thy mind at rest, I will leave thee

this cloak —thou seest 'tis good sky-blue silk —in pledge. So raising

her head and glancing at the cloak : — And what may the cloak be

worth ? quoth Belcolore. Worth I ejaculated the priest : I

would have thee know that 'tis all Douai, not to say Trouai,

make : nay, there arc some of our folk here that say 'tis Quadrouai ;



i84 DECAMERON. [eighth day.

and 'tis not a fortnight since I bought it of Lotto, the second-

hand dealer, for seven good pounds, and then had it five good soldi

under value, by what I hear from Buglietto, who, thou knowest,

is an excellent judge of these articles. Oh say you so?exclaimed Belcolore. So help me God, I should not have thought

it ; however, let me look at it. So Master Priest, being ready for

action, doffed the cloak and handed it to her. And she, having

put it in a safe place, said to him : — Now, Sir, we will away to

the hut ; there is never a soul goes there ; and so they did. And

there Master Priest, giving her many a mighty buss and straining

her to his sacred person, solaced himself with her no little while.

Which done, he hied him away in his cassock, as if he were comefrom officiating at a ^yedding ; but, when he was back in his holy

quarters, he bethought him that not all the candles that he received

by way of offering in the course of an entire year would amount to

the half of five pounds, and saw that he had made a bad bargain,

and repented him that he had left the cloak in pledge, and cast

about how he might recover it without paying anything. And as

he did not lack cunning, he hit upon an excellent expedient, by

which he compassed his end. So on the morrow, being a saint's

day, he sent a neighbour's lad to Monna Belcolore with a request

that she would be so good as to lend him her stone mortar, for that

Binguccio dal Poggio and Nuto Buglietti were to breakfast with

him that morning, and he therefore wished to make a sauce.

Belcolore having sent the mortar, the priest, about breakfast time,

reckoning that Bentivegna del Mazzo and Belcolore would be at

their meal, called his clerk, and said to him :— Take the mortar

back to Belcolore, and say :—

* My master thanks you very kindly,

and bids you return the cloak that the lad left with you in pledge.'

The clerk took the mortar to Belcolore's house, where, finding her

at table with Bentivegna, he set the mortar down and delivered the

priest's message. Whereto Belcolore would fain have demurred ;

but Bentivegna gave her a threatening glance, saying :

— So, then,thou takest a pledge from Master Priest ? By Christ, I vow, I

have half a mind to give thee a great clout o' the chin. Go, give

it back at once, a murrain on thee And look to it that whatever

he may have a mind to, were it our very ass, he be never denied.

So, with a very bad grace, Belcolore got up, and went to the



SECOND STORY.] DECAMERON. i8s

wardrobe, and took out the cloak, and gave it to the clerk, saying :

Tell thy master from me : —Would to God he may never ply pestle

in my mortar again, such honour has he done me for this turn

So the clerk returned with the cloak, and delivered the message to

Master Priest; who, laughing, made answer: — Tell her, whenthou next seest her, that, so she lend us not the mortar, I will not

lend her the pestle : be it tit for tat.

Bentivegna made no account of his wife's words, deeming that

*twas but his chiding that had provoked them. But Belcolore wasnot a little displeased with Master Priest, and had never a word to say

to him till the vintage ; after which, what with the salutary fear in

which she stood of the mouth of Lucifer the Great, to which hethreatened to consign her, and the must and roast chestnuts that he

sent her, she made it up with him, and many a jolly time they had

together. And though she got not the five pounds from him, he put

a new skin on her tabret, and fitted it with a little bell, wherewith

she was satisfied.



NOVEL 111.

Calandrino^ Bruno and Biiffalmacco go in quest of the

heliotrope beside the Mugnone. Thinking to have

found it, Calandrino gets him home laden with stones.

His wife chides him : whereat he waxes wroth, beats

her, and tells his comrades what they know better

than he.

Ended Pamfilo's story, which moved the ladies to inextinguish-

able laughter, the queen bade Elisa follow suit : whereupon,

laughing, she thus began : —I know not, debonair my ladies, whetherwith my little story, which is no less true than entertaining, I shall

give you occasion to laugh as much as Pamfilo has done with his,

but I will do my best.

In our city, where there has never been lack of odd humoursand queer folk, there dwelt , no long time ago, a painter namedCalandrino, a simple soul, of uncouth manners, that spent most of

his time with two other painters, the one Bruno, the other

BufFalmacco, by name, pleasant fellows enough, but not without

their full share of sound and shrewd sense, and who kept with

Calandrino for that they not seldom found his singular ways and

his simplicity very diverting. There was also at the same time

at Florence one Maso del Saggio, a fellow marvellously entertaining

by his cleverness, dexterity and unfailing resource ; who having

heard somewhat touching Calandrino's simplicity, resolved to makefun of him by playing him a trick, and inducing him to believe

some prodigy. And happening one day to come upon Calandrino in

the church of San Giovanni, where he sate intently regarding the

paintings and intaglios of the tabernacle above the altar, which hadi86




then but lately been set there, he deemed time and pbcc convenient

for the execution of his design ; which he accordingly imparted to

one of his comrades : whereupon the two men drew nigh the place

where Calandrino sate alone, and feigning not to see him fell a

talking of the virtues of divers stones, of which Ma<n spoke as aptly

and pertinently as if he had been a great and learned lapidary.

Calandrino heard what passed between them, and witting that 'twas

no secret, after a while got up, and joined them, to Maso's no small

delight. He therefore continued his discourse, and being asked by

Calandrino, where these stones of such rare virtues were to be found,

made answer :— Chiefly in Berlinzone, in the land of the Basques.

The district is called Bengodi, and there they bind the vines withsausages, and a denier will buy a goose and a gosling into the

bargain j and on a mountain, all of grated Parmesan cheese, dwell

folk that do nought else but make macaroni and raviuoli,^ and boil

them in capon's broth, and then throw them down to be scrambled

for J and hard by flows a rivulet of Vernaccia, the best that ever

was drunk, and never a drop of water therein. Ah I 'tis a sweet

country quoth Calandrino ; but tell me, what becomes of the

capons that they boil? They are all eaten by the Basques,

replied Maso. Then :— Wast thou ever there ? quoth Calandrino.

Whereupon : —*' Was I ever there, sayst thou ? replied Maso. Why, if I have been there once, I have been there a thousand

times. And how many miles is't from here ? quoth Calandrino. Oh returned Maso, more than thou couldst number in a night

without slumber. Farther off, then, than the Abruzzi ? said

Calandrino. Why, yes, 'tis a bit farther, replied Maso.

Now Calandrino, like the simple soul that he was, marking the

composed and grave countenance with which Maso spoke, could not

have believed him more thoroughly, if he had uttered the most patent

truth, and thus taking his words for gospel : — 'Tis a trifle too far

for my purse, quoth he; were it nigher, I warrant thee, 1

would go with thee thither one while, just to see the macaroni

come tumbling down, and take my fill thereof. But tell me, so good

luck befall thee, are none of these stones, that have these rare virtues,

to be found in these regions ? *' Ay, replied Maso, *' two sorts of

^ A sort of rissole.



1 88 DECAMERON. [eighth day.

stone arc found there, both of virtues extraordinary. The one sort

are the sandstones of Settignano and Montisci, which being made

into millstones, by virtue thereof flour is made ; wherefore 'tis a

common saying in those countries that blessings come from God and

millstones from Montisci : but, for that these sandstones are in great

plenty, they are held cheap by us, just as by them are emeralds,

whereof they have mountains, bigger than Monte Morello, that shine

at midnight, a God's name And know this, that whoso should make

a goodly pair of millstones, and connect them with a ring before ever

a hole was drilled in them, and take them to the Soldan, should get

all he would have thereby. The other sort of stone is the heliotrope,

as we lapidaries call it, a stone of very great virtue, inasmuch as

whoso carries it on his person is seen, so long as he keep it, by never

another soul, where he is not. These be virtues great indeed,

quoth Calandrino ; but where is this second stone to be found ?

Whereto Maso made answer that there were usually some to be

found in the Mugnone. And what are its size and colour ? quoth

Calandrino. The size varies, replied Maso, for some are bigger

and some smaller than others ; but all are of the same colour, being

nearly black. All these matters duly marked and fixed in his memory,Calandrino made as if he had other things to attend to, and took his

leave of Maso with the intention of going in quest of the stone, but

not until he had let his especial friends, Bruno and Buifalmacco,

know of his project. So, that no time might be lost, but, postponing

everything else, they might begin the quest at once, he set about

looking for them, and spent the whole morning in the search. Atlength, when 'twas already past none, he called to mind that they

would be at work in the Faentine women's convent, and though

'twas excessively hot, he let nothing stand in his way, but at a pace

that was more like a run than a walk, hied him thither ; and so soon

as he had made them ware of his presence, thus he spoke :—*' Com-

rades, so you are but minded to hearken to me, 'tis in our power to

become the richest men in Florence ; for I arti informed by one that

may be trusted that there is a kind of stone in the Mugnone which

renders whoso carries it invisible to every other soul in the world.

Wherefore, methinks, we were wise to let none have the start of us,

but go search for this stone without any delay. We shall find it

without a doubt, for I know what 'tis like, and when we have found




it^ we have but to put it in the purse, and get us to the money-

changers, whose counters, as you know, are always laden with groacs

and florins, and help ourselves to as many as we have a mind to.

No one will see us, and so, hey presto we shall be rich folk in the

twinkling of an eye, and have no more need to go besmearing the

walls all day long like so many snails. Whereat Bruno and Buffal-

macco began only to laugh, and exchanging glances, made as if they

marvelled exceedingly, and expressed approval of Calandrino's project.

Then Bufialmacco asked, what might be the name of the stone.

Calandrino, like the numskull that he was, had already forgotten the

name : so he made answer :— Why need we concern ourselves

with the name, since we know the stone's virtue ? methinks, wewere best to go look for it, and waste no more time. Well, well,

said Bruno, but what are the size and shape of the stone ? Theyare of all sizes and shapes, said Calandrino, but they are all pretty

nearly black ; wherefore, methinks, we were best to collect all the

black stones that we see until we hit upon it : and so, let us be off,

and lose no more time. Nay, but, said Bruno, ** wait a bit.

And turning to Buffalmacco :— Methinks, quoth he, that Calan-

drino says well : but I doubt this is not the time for such work,

seeing that the sun is high, and his rays so flood the Mugnone as to

dry all the stones ; insomuch that stones will now shew as white

that in the morning, before the sun had dried them, would shew as

black : besides which, to-day being a working-day, there will be for

one cause or another folk not a few about the Mugnone, who, seeing

us, might guess what we were come for, and peradventure do the like

themselves ; whereby it might well be that they found the stone, and

we might miss the trot by trying after the amble. Wherefore, so

you agree, methinks we were best to go about it in the morning,

when we shall be better able to distinguish the black stones from the

white, and on a holiday, when there will be none to see us.

Buffalmacco's advice being approved by Bruno, Calandrino

chimed in ; and so 'twas arranged that they should all three go in

quest of the stone on the following Sunday. So Calandrino, having

besought his companions above all things to let never a soul in the

world hear aught of the matter, for that it had been imparted to hira

in strict confidence, and having told them what he had heard touch-

ing the land of Bcngodi^ the truth of which he affirmed with oaths.




took leave of them ; and they concerted their plan, while Calandrino

impatiently expected the Sunday morning. Whereon, about dawn,

he arose,' and called them ; and forth they issued by the Porta a San

Gallo, and hied them to the Mugnone, and following its course,

began their quest of the stone, Calandrino, as was natural, leading

the way, and jumping lightly from rock to rock, and wherever he

espied a black stone, stooping down, picking it up and putting it in

the fold of his tunic, while his comrades followed, picking up a stone

here and a stone there. Thus it was that Calandrino had not gone

far, before, finding that there was no more room in his tunic, he lifted

the skirts of his gown, which was not cut after the fashion of

Hainault, and gathering them under his leathern girdle and makingthem fast on every side, thus furnished himself with a fresh and

capacious lap, which, however, taking no long time to fill, he made

another lap out of his cloak, which in like manner he soon filled

with stones. Wherefore, Bruno and Buffalmacco seeing that

Calandrino was well laden, and that 'twas nigh upon breakfast-time,

and the moment for action come : — Where is Calandrino ?

quoth Bruno to Buffalmacco. Whereto Buffalmacco, who had

Calandrino full in view, having first turned about and looked here,

there and everywhere, made answer : — That wot not I j but not

so long ago he was just in front of us. Not so long ago, forsooth,

returned Bruno ; 'tis my firm belief that at this very moment he is

at breakfast at home, having left to us this wild-goose chase of black

stones in the Mugnone. Marry, quoth Buffalmacco, he did but

serve us right so to trick us and leave, seeing that we were so silly as

to believe him. Why, who could have thought that any but wewould have been so foolish as to believe that a stone of such rare

virtue was to be found in the Mugnone ? Calandrino, hearing their

colloquy, forthwith imagined that he had the stone in his hand, and

by its virtue, though present, was invisible to them ; and overjoyed by

such good fortune, would not say a word to undeceive them, but

determined to hie him home, and accordingly faced about, and put

himself in motion. Whereupon :— Ay quoth Buffalmacco

to Bruno, what are we about that we go not back too ? Go wethen, said Bruno ; but by God I swear that Calandrino shall

never play me another such trick ; and as to this, were I nigh him,

as I have been all the morning, I would teach him to remember it




for a month or so, such a reminder would I give him in the heel

with this stone. And even as he spoke he threw back his arm, andlaunched the stone against Calandrino's heel. Galled by the blow,

Calandrino gave a great hop and a slight gasp, but said nothing, andhalted not. Then, picking out one of the stones that he hadcollected :

—'* Bruno, .quoth Buffalmacco, sec what a goodly

stone I have here, would it might but catch Calandrino in the

back ; and forthwith he discharged it with main force upon the

said back. And in short, suiting action to word, now in this way,

now in that, they stoned him all the way up the Mugnone as far as

the Porta a San Gallo. There they threw away the stones they had

picked up, and tarried a while with the customs' officers, who, beingprimed by them, had let Calandrino pass unchallenged, while their

laughter knew no bounds.

So Calandrino, halting nowhere, betook him to his house, which

was hard by the corner of the Macina. And so well did Fortune

prosper the trick, that all the way by the stream and across the city

there was never a soul that said a word to Calandrino, and indeed he

encountered but few, for most folk were at breakfast. But no

sooner was Calandrino thus gotten home with his stones, than it so

happened that his good lady, Monna Tessa, shewed her fair face at

the stair's head, and catching sight of him, and being somewhatannoyed by his long delay, chid him, saying : — What the Devil

brings thee here so late ? Must breakfast wait thee until all other

folk have had it ? Calandrino caught the words, and angered and

mortified to find that he was not invisible, broke out with :— Alas

curst woman so 'twas thou Thou hast undone me : but, God's

faith, I will pay thee out. Whereupon he was upstairs in a trice,

and having discharged his great load of stones in a parlour, rushed

with fell intent upon his wife, and laid hold of her by the hair, and

threw her down at his feet, and beat and kicked her in every part of

her person with all the force he had in his arms and legs, insomuch

that he left never a hair of her head or bone of her body unscathed,

and 'twas all in vain that she laid her palms together and crossed her

fingers and cried for mercy.

Now Buffalmacco and Bruno, after making merry a while with

the warders of the gate, had set ofF again at a leisurely pace, keeping

some distance behind Calandrino. Arrived at his door, they heard




the noise of the sound thrashing that he was giving his wife ; and

making as if they were but that very instant come upon the scene,

they called him. Calandrino, flushed, all of a sweat, and out of

breath, shewed himself at the window, and bade them come up.

They, putting on a somewhat angry air, did so ; and espied Calan-

drino sitting in the parlour, amid the stones which lay all about,

untrussed, and puflling with the air of a man spent with exertion,

while his lady lay in one of the corners, weeping bitterly, her hair all

dishevelled, her clothes torn to shreds, and her face livid, bruised and

battered. So after surveying the room a while : — What means

this, Calandrino ? quoth they. Art thou minded to build thee a

wall, that we see so many stones about ? And then, as they re-

ceived no answer, they continued : — And how's this ? How comes

Monna Tessa in this plight ? 'T would seem thou hast given her a

beating What unheard-of doings are these ? What with the

weight of the stones that he had carried, and the fury with which he

had beaten his wife, and the mortification that he felt at the mis-

carriage of his enterprise, Calandrino was too spent to utter a word

by way of reply. Wherefore in a menacing tone BufFalmacco began

again : — However out of sorts thou mayst have been, Calandrino,

thou shouldst not have played us so scurvy a trick as thou hast. Totake us with thee to the Mugnone in quest of this stone of rare

virtue, and then, without so much as saying either God-speed or

Devil-speed, to be off, and leave us there like a couple of gowks

We take it not a little unkindly : and rest assured that thou shalt

never so fool us again. Whereto with an effort Calandrino re-

plied :— Comrades, be not wroth with me : 'tis not as you think.

I, luckless wight found the stone : listen, and you will no longer

doubt that I say sooth. When you began saying one to the other :—' Where is Calandrino ?

' I was within ten paces of you, and marking

that you came by without seeing me, I went before, and so, keeping

ever a little ahead of you, I came hither. And then he told them the

whole story of what they had said and done from beginning to end,

and shewed them his back and heel, how they had been mauled by

the stones ; after which :— And I tell you, he went on, that,

laden though I was with all these stones, that you see here, never a

word was said to me by the warders of the gate as I passed in, though

you know how vexatious and grievous these warders are wont to




make themselves in their determination to sec everything : and morc-

Qver I met by the way several of my gossips and friends that arc ever .

wont to greet me, and ask me to drink, and never a word said any oJ/

them to me, no, nor half a word either ; but they passed me by as

men that saw me not. But at last, being come home, I was metand seen by this devil of a woman, curses upon her, forasmuch as all

things, as you know, lose their virtue in the presence of a woman ;

whereby I from being the most lucky am become the most luckless

man in Florence : and therefore I thrashed her as long as I could stir

a hand, nor know I wherefore I forbear to sluice her veins for her,

cursed be the hour that first I saw her, cursed be the hour that I

brought her into the house And so, kindling with fresh wrath, hewas about to start up and give her another thrashing ; when Buffal-

macco and Bruno, who had listened to his story with an air of great

surprise, and affirmed its truth again and again, while they all but burst

with suppressed laughter, seeing him now frantic to renew his assault

upon his wife, got up and withstood and held him back, averring that

the lady was in no wise to blame for what had happened, but only he,

who, witting that things lost their virtue in the presence of women, had

not bidden her keep aloof from him that day ; which precaution Godhad not suffered him to take, either because the luck was not to be

his, or because hewas minded

to cheat his comrades, towhom

he

should have shewn the stone as soon as he found it. And so, with

many words they hardly prevailed upon him to forgive his injured

wife, and leaving him to rue the ill-luck that had filled his house

with stones, went their way.

VOL. II.



NOVEL IV.

The rector of Fiesole loves a widow lady^ by whom he is

not loved^ and thinking to lie with her^ lies with her

maid, with whom the ladys brothers cause him to be

found by his Bishop.

Elisa being come to the end of her story, which in the telh'ng

had yielded no small delight to all the company, the queen, turning

to Emilia, signified her will, that her story should ensue at once upon

that of Elisa. And thus with alacrity Emilia began : —Noble ladies,

how we are teased and tormented by these priests and friars, and

indeed by clergy of all sorts, I mind me to have been set forth in

more than one of the stories that have been told ; but as 'twere not

possible to say so much thereof but that more would yet remain to

say, I purpose to supplement them with the story of a rector, who, in

defiance of all the world, was bent upon having the favour of a

gentlewoman, whether she would or no. Which gentlewoman,

being discreet above a little, treated him as he deserved.

Fiesole, whose hill is here within sight, is, as each of you knows,

a city of immense antiquity, and was aforetime great, though now'tis fallen into complete decay; which notwithstanding, it always was,

and still is the see of a bishop. Now there was once a gentlewoman,

Monna Piccarda by name, a widow, that had an estate at Fiesole,

hard by the cathedral, on which, for that she was not in the easiest

circumstances, she lived most part of the year, and with her her twobrothers, very worthy and courteous young men, both of them.

And the lady being wont frequently to resort to the cathedral, and

being still quite young and fair and debonair withal, it so befell that

the rector grew in the last degree enamoured of her, and waxed at

length so bold, that he himself avowed his passion to the lady, praying

194




lier to entertain his love, and requite it in like measure. The rector

was advanced in years, but otherwise the veriest springald, being bold

and of a high spirit, of a boundless conceit of 'himself, and of mienand manners most affected and in the worst taste, and withal so tire-

some and insufferable that he was on bad terms with everybody, and,

if with one person more than another, with this lady, who not only

cared not a jot for him, but had liefer have had a headache than his

company. Wherefore the lady discreetly made answer :— I may

well prize your love. Sir, and love you I should and will right gladly;

but such love as yours and mine may never admit of aught that is

not honourable. You are my spiritual father and a priest, and nowverging towards old age, circumstances which should ensure yourhonour and chastity ; and I, on my part, am no longer a girl, such

as these love affairs might beseem, but a widow, and well you wothow it behoves widows to be chaste. Wherefore I pray you to have

me excused j for, after the sort you crave, you shall never have mylove, nor would I in such sort be loved by you. With this answer

the rector was for the nonce fain to be content ; but he was not the

man to be dismayed and routed by a first repulse ; and with his

wonted temerity and effrontery he plied her again and again with

letters and Embassages, and also by word of mouth, when he espied

her entering the church. Wherefore the lady finding this persecutionmore grievous and harassing than she could well bear, cast about howshe might be quit thereof in such fashion as he deserved, seeing that

he left her no choice ; howbeit she would do nought in the matter

until she had conferred with her brothers. She therefore told them

how the rector pursued her, and how she meant to foil him ; and,

with their full concurrence, some few days afterwards she went, as

she was wont, to church. The rector no sooner saw her, than he

approached and accosted her, as he was wont, in a tone of easy

familiarity. The lady greeted him, as he came up, with a glance

of gladsome recognition ; and when he had treated her to not a little

of his wonted eloquence, she drew him aside, and heaving a great

s igh, said : — I have oftentimes heard it said. Sir, that there is no

castle so strong, but that, if the siege be continued day by day, it

will sooner or later be taken ; which I now plainly perceive is myown case. For so fairly have you hemmed me in with this, that, and

the other pretty speech or the like blandishments, that you have con-




strained me to make nought of my former resolve, and, seeing that I

find such favour v/kh you, to surrender myself unto you. Whereto,overjoyed, the rector made answer : — Madam, I am greatly

honoured ; and, sooth to say, I marvelled not a little how you should

hold out so long, seeing that I have never had the like experience

with any other woman, insomuch that I have at times said : —' Werewomen of silver, they would not be worth a denier, for there is none

but would give under the hammer.' But no more of this : when and

where may we come together ? Sweet my lord, replied the lady,

for the when, 'tis just as we may think best, for I have no husband

to whom to render account of my nights, but the where passes mywit to conjecture. How so ? quoth the rector. Why not in

your own house ? Sir, replied the lady, you know that I have

two brothers, both young men, who day and night bring their com-rades into the house, which is none too large : for which reason it

might not be done there, unless we were minded to make ourselves,

as it were, dumb and blind, uttering never a word, not so much as a

monosyllable, and abiding in the dark : in such sort indeed it might

be, because they do not intrude upon my chamber ; but theirs is so

near to mine that the very least whisper could not but be heard.

Nay but. Madam, returned the rector, let not this stand in our

way for a night or two, until I may bethink me where else we mightbe more at our ease. Be that as you will. Sir, quoth the lady,

• I do but entreat that the affair be kept close, so that never a word

of it get wind. Have no fear on that score, Madam, replied the

priest ; and if so it may be, let us forgather to-night. Withpleasure, returned the lady j and having appointed him hovv and

when to come, she left him and went home.

Now the lady had a maid, that was none too young, and had a

countenance the ugliest and most misshapen that ever was seen ; for

indeed she was flat-nosed, wry-mouthed, and thick-lipped, with huge,

ill-set teeth, eyes that squinted and were ever bleared, and a com-

plexion betwixt green and yellow, that shewed as if she had spent the

summer not at Fiesole but at Sinigaglia : besides which she was hip-

shot and somewhat halting on the right side. Her name was Ciuta,

but, for that she was such a scurvy bitch to look upon, she was called

by all folk Ciutazza.^ And being thus misshapen of body, she was

1 An augmentative form, with a suggestion of cagnazzOf bitch-like.




also not without her share of guile. So the lady called her and said :

— Ciutazza, so thou wilt do me a service to-night, I will give thee

a fine new shift. At the mention of the shift Ciutazza madeanswer: — So you give me a shift, Madam, I will throw myself

into the very fire. Good, said the lady ; then I would have

thee lie to-night in my bed with a man, whom thou wilt caress ; but

look thou say never a word, that my brothers, who, as thou knowest,

sleep in the next room, hear thee not ; and afterwards I will give

thee the shift. Sleep with a man quoth Ciutazza : why, if

need be, I will sleep with six. So in the evening Master Rector

came, as he had been bidden ; and the two young men, as the lady

had arranged, being in their room, and making themselves very audible,

he stole noiselessly, and in the dark, into the lady's room, and got

him on to the bed, which Ciutazza, well advised by the lady how to

behave, mounted from the other side. Whereupon Master Rector,

thinking to have the lady by his side, took Ciutazza in his arms, and

fell a kissing her, saying never a word the while, and Ciutazza did

the like ; and so he enjoyed her, plucking the boon which he had so

long desired.

The rector and Ciutazza thus closeted, the lady charged her

brothers to execute the rest of her plan. They accordingly stole

quietly out of their room, and hied them to the piazza, whereFortune proved propitious beyond what they had craved of her j for,

it being a very hot night, the bishop had been seeking them, purposing

to go home with them, and solace himself with their society, and

quench his thirst. With which desire he acquainted them, as soon

as he espied them coming into the piazza ; and so they escorted himto their house, and there in the cool of their little courtyard, which

was bright with many a lamp, he took, to his no small comfort, a

draught of their good wine. Which done :— Sir, said the young

men, since of your great courtesy you have deigned to visit our poor

house, to which we were but now about to invite you, we should be

.

gratified if you would be pleased to give a look at somewhat, a mere

trifle though it be, which we have here to shew you. The bishop

replied that he would do so with pleasure. Whereupon one of the

young men took a lighted, torch and led the way, the bishop and

the rest following, to the chamber where Master Rector lay with

Ciutazza.



igS DECAMERON. [eighth day.

Now the rector, being in hot haste, had ridden hard, insomuch

that he was already gotten above three miles on his way when they

arrived ; and so, being somewhat tired, he was resting, but, hot

though the night vv^as, he still held Ciutazza in his arms. In which

posture he was shewn to the bishop, when, preceded by the young

man bearing the light, and followed by the others, he entered the

chamber. And being roused, and observing the light and the folk

that stood about him, Master Rector was mighty ashamed and

affrighted, and popped his head under the clothes. But the bishop,

reprimanding him severely, constrained him to thrust his head out

again, and take a view of his bed-fellow. Thus made aware of the

trick which the lady had played him, the rector was now, both onthat score and by reason of his signal disgrace, the saddest man that

ever was ; and his discomfiture vi^as complete, when, having donned

his clothes, he was committed by the bishop's command to close

custody and sent to prison, there to expiate his offence by a rigorous

penance.

The bishop was then fain to know how it had come about that

he had forgathered there with Ciutazza. Whereupon the young

men related the whole story ; which ended, the bishop commendedboth the lady and the young men not a little, for that they had taken

condign vengeance upon him without imbruing their handsin the

blood of a priest. The bishop caused him to bewail his transgression

forty days ; but what with his love, and the scornful requital which

it had received, he bewailed it more than forty and nine days, not to

mention that; for a great while he could not shew himself in the

street but the boys would point the finger at him and say :

There goes he that lay with Ciutazza. Which was such an

affliction to him that he was like to go mad. On this wise the

worthy lady rid herself of the rector's vexatious importunity, and

Ciutazza had a jolly night and earned her shift.



NOVEL V.

Three young men pull down the breeches of a judge fromthe Marches, while he is administering justice on the

bench.

So ended Emilia her story ; and when all had commended the

widow lady :— 'Tis now thy turn to speak, quoth the queen,

fixing her gaze upon Filostrato, who answered that he was ready,

and forthwith thus began : —Sweet my ladies, by what I rememberof that young man, to wit, Maso del Saggio, whom Elisa named a

while ago, I am prompted to lay aside a story that I had meant to

tell you, and to tell you another, touching him and some .of his

comrades, which, notwithstanding there are in it certain words

(albeit *tis not unseemly) which your modesty forbears to use, is yetso laughable that I shall relate it.

As you all may well have heard, there come not seldom to our

city magistrates from the Marches, who for the most part are menof a mean spirit, and in circumstances so reduced and beggarly, that

their whole life seems to be but a petty-foggery j and by reason of

this their inbred sordidness and avarice they bring with them judges

and notaries that have rather the air of men taken from the plough

or the last than trained in the schools of law.^ Now one of these

Marchers, being come hither as Podesta, brought with him judges

not a few, and among them one that called himself Messer Niccola

da San Lepidio, and looked liker to a locksmith than aught else.

However, this fellow was assigned with the rest of the judges to

hear criminal causes. And as folk will often go to the court, though

they have no concern whatever there, it so befell that Maso del

^ It was owing to their internal dissensions that the FIorentiDCS were

from time to time fain to introduce these stranger Podestas.

199




Saggio went thither one morning in quest of one of his fr iends, and

there chancing to set eyes on this Messer Niccola, where he sate,

deemed him a fowl of no common feather, and surveyed him from

head to foot, observing that the vair which he wore on his head was

all begrimed, that he carried an ink-horn at his girdle, that his gownwas longer than his robe, and many another detail quite foreign to

the appearance of a man of birth and breeding, of which that which

he deemed most notable was a pair of breeches, which, as he saw

(for the judge's outer garments being none too ample were open in

front, as he sate), reached half-way down his legs. By which sight his

mind was presently diverted from the friend whom he came there to

seek ; and forth he hied him in quest of other two of his comrades,

the one Ribi, the other Matteuzzo by name, fellows both of them

not a whit less jolly than Maso himself; and having found them, he

said to them :— An you love me, come with me to the court, and

I will shew you the queerest scarecrow that ever you saw. So the

two men hied them with him to the court ; and there he pointed

out to them the judge and his breeches. What they saw from a

distance served to set them laughing : then drawing nearer to the

daKs on which Master Judge was seated, they observed that 'twas

easy enough to get under the daYs, and moreover that the plank, on

which the judge's feet rested, was broken, so that there was plentyof room for the passage of a hand and arm. Whereupon quoth

Maso to his comrades :— 'Twere a very easy matteir to pull these

breeches right down : wherefore I propose that we do so. Each

of the men had marked how it might be done ; and so, having

concerted both what they should do and what they should say, they

came to the court again next morning ; and, the court being

crowded, Matteuzzo, observed by never a soul, slipped beneath the

dais, and posted himself right under the spot where the judge's feet

rested, while the other two men took their stand on either side of the

judge, each laying hold of the hem of his robe. Then : — Sir, sir, I

pray you for God's sake, began Maso, that, before the pilfering rascal

that is there beside you can make off, you constrain him to give meback a pair of jack boots that he has stolen from me, which theft

he still denies, though 'tis not a month since I saw him getting

them resoled. Meanwhile Ribi, at the top of his voice, shouted :

Believe him not, Sir, the scurvy knave 'Tis but that he knows



WFTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 201

that I am come to demand restitution of a valise that he has stolen

from me that he now for the first time trumps up this story about

a pair of jack boots that I have had in my house down to the last

day cr two ; and if you doubt what I say, I can bring as witness

Trecca, my neighbour, and Grassa, the tripe-woman, and one that

goes about gathering the sweepings of Santa Maria a Vcrzaia, whosaw him when he was on his way back from the farm. But shout

as he might, Maso was still even with him, nor for all that did Ribi

bate a jot of his clamour. And while the judge stood, bending nowtowards the one, now towards the other, the better to hear them,

Matteuzzo seized his opportunity, and thrusting his hand through

the hole in the plank caught hold of the judge's breeches, and tugged

at them amain. Whereby down they came straightway, for the

judge was a lean man, and shrunk in the buttocks. The judge,

being aware of the accident, but knowing not how it had come

about, would have gathered his outer garments together in front, so

as to cover the defect, but Maso on the one side, and Ribi on the

other, held him fest, shouting amain and in chorus : — You do me a

grievous wrong. Sir, thus to deny me justice, nay, even a hearing,

and to think of quitting the court : there needs no writ in this city

for such a trifling matter as this. And thus they held him by the

clothes and in parley, until all that were in the court perceived thathe had lost his breeches. However, after a while, Matteuzzo

dropped the breeches, and slipped off, and out of the court, without

being observed, and Ribi, deeming that the joke had gone far

enough, exclaimed :— By God, I vow, I will appeal to the Syndics ;

**

while 'Maso, on the other side, let go the robe, saying : — Nay,

but for my part, I will come here again and again and again, until I

find you less embarrassed than you seem to be to-day. And so the

one this way, the other that way, they made off with all speed.

Whereupon Master Judge, disbreeched before all the world, was as

one that awakens from sleep, albeit he was ware of his forlorn

condition, and asked whither the parties in the case touching the

jack boots and the valise were gone. However, as they were not

to be found, he fell a swearing by the bowels of God, that 'twas

meet and proper that he should know and wit, whether 'twas the

custom at Florence to disbreech judges sitting in the seat of justice.

When the affair reached the ears of the Podest.\, he made no




little stir about it j but, being informed by some of hi§ friends, that

'twould not have happened, but that the Florentines were minded

to shew him, that, in place of the judges he should have brought

with him, he had brought but gowks, to save expense, he deemed it

best to say no more about it, and so for that while the matter wentno further.



NOVEL vr.

Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig from Calandrino^ andinduce

himto

essayits

recovery by means of pills ofginger and vernaccia. Of the said pills they give

him two, one after the other, made of dog-ginger

compounded with aloes ; and it then appearing as if

he had had the pig himself they constrain him to buy

them off, if he would not have them tell his wife,

FiLOSTRATo's stoiy, whi'ch elicited not a little laughter, was nosooner ended, than the queen bade Filomena follow suit. Where-fore thus Filomena began :

—As, gracious ladies, 'twas the name of

Maso del Saggio that prompted Filostrato to tell the story that you

have but now heard, even so 'tis with me in regard of Calandrino

and his comrades, of whom I am minded to tell you another story,

which you will, I think, find entertaining. Who Calandrino,

Bruno and BufFalmacco were, I need not explain ; you know them

well enough from the former story j and therefore I will tarry no

longer than to say that Calandrino had a little estate not far from

Florence, which his wife had brought him by way of dowry, and

which yielded them yearly, among other matters, a pig ; and 'twas

his custom every year in the month of December to resort to the

farm with his wife, there to see to the killing and salting of the

said pig. Now, one of these years it so happened that his wife

being unwell, Calandrino went thither alone to kill the pig. AndBruno and Buffalmacco learning that he was gone to the farm, and

that his wife was not with him, betook them to the house of a

priest that was their especial friend and a neighbour of Calandrino,

Z03




there to tarry a while. Upon their arrival Calandrino, who had

that very morning killed the pig, met them with the priest, and

accosted them, saying :— A hearty welcome to you. I should

like you to see what an excellent manager I am ;'* and so he took

them into his house, and shewed them the pig. They observed

that 'twas a very fine pig ; and learned from Calandrino that he was

minded to salt it for household consumption. Then thou art but

a fool, quoth Bruno. Sell it, man, and let us have a jolly time

with the money ; and tell thy wife that 'tw^s stolen. Not I,

replied Calandrino : she would never believe me, and would drive

me out of the house. Urge me no further, for I will never do it.

The others said a great deal more, but to no purpose ; and Calandrinobade them to supper, but so coldly that they declined, and left him.

Presently :— Should we not steal this pig from him to-night ?

quoth Bruno to BufFalmacco. Could we so? returned BufFal-

macco. How? Why as to that, rejoined Bruno, I have

already marked how it may be done, if he bestow not the pig

elsewhere. So be it, then, said Buffalmacco : we will steal

it ; and then, perchance, our good host, Master Priest, will join us

in doing honour to such good cheer ? That right gladly will I,

quoth the priest. Whereupon :— Some address, though, quoth

Bruno, will, be needful: thou knowest, BufFalmacco, what a

niggardly fellow Calandrino is, and how greedily he drinks at other

folk's expense. Go we, therefore, and take him to the tavern,

and there let the priest make as if, to do us honour, he would pay

the whole score, and suffer Calandrino to pay never a soldo, and he

will grow tipsy, and then we shall speed excellent well, because he

is alone in the house.

As Bruno proposed, so they did : and Calandrino, finding that

the priest would not suffer him to pay, drank amain, and took a great

deal more aboard than he had need of; and the night being far spent

when he left the tavern, he dispensed with supper, and went home,

and thinking to have shut the door, got him to bed, leaving it open.

Buffalmacco and Bruno went to sup with the priest j and after supper,

taking with them certain implements with which to enter Calandrino's

house, where Bruno thought it most feasible, they stealthily approached

it J but finding the door open, they entered, and took down the pig,

and carried it away to the priest's house, and having there bestowed




it safely, went to bed. In the morning when Calandrino, his head at

length quit of the fumes of the wine, got up, and came downstairs

and found that his pig was nowhere to be seen, and that the door

was open, he asked this, that, and the other man, whether they wist

who had taken the pig away, and getting no answer, he began to

make a great outcry :— Alas, alas luckless man that I am, that

my pig should have been stolen from me Meanwhile Bruno and

BufFalmacco, being also risen, made up to him, to hear what he would

say touching the pig. Whom he no sooner saw, than well-nigh

weeping he called them, saying: — Alas my friends my pig is

stolen from me. Bruno stepped up to him and said in a low tone :

'Tis passing strange if thou art in the right for once. Alas

**

returned Calandrino, what I say is but too true. Why, then,

out with it, man, quoth Bruno, cry aloud, that all folk may knowthat 'tis so. Calandrino then raised his voice and said :

— By the

body o' God I say of a truth that my pig has been stolen from me.

So quoth Bruno, but publish it, man, publish it; lift up thy

voice, make thyself well heard, that all may believe thy report.

Thou art enough to make me give my soul to the Enemy, replied

Calandrino. I say —dost not believe me ?—that hang me by the

neck if the pig is not stolen from me Nay, but, quoth Bruno,

how can it be ? I saw it here but yesterday. Dost think to make

me believe that it has taken to itself wings and flown away ? All

the same 'tis as I tell thee, returned Calandrino. Is it possible ?

quoth Bruno. Ay indeed, replied Calandrino ; 'tis even so : and

I am undone, and know not how to go home. Never will my wife

believe me ; or if she do so, I shall know no peace this year.

Upon my hope of salvation, quoth Bruno, 'tis indeed a bad

business, if so it really is. But thou knowest, Calandrino, that 'twas

but yesterday I counselled thee to make believe that 'twas so. I

should be sorry to think thou didst befool thy wife and us at the same

time. Ah vociferated Calandrino, wilt thou drive me to

despair and provoke me to blaspheme God and the saints and all the

company of heaven ? I tell thee that the pig has been stolen from

me in the night. Whereupon : — If so it be, quoth BufFalmacco,

we must find a way, if we can, to recover it. Find a way ?

said Calandrino : how can we compass that ? Why, replied

Buftalmacco, 'tis certain that no one has come from India to steal



MXTH STORV.J DECAMERON. 207

Gentlemen, said Bruno, 'tis meet I tell you the reason why you

are gathered here, that if aught unpleasant to you should befall, youmay have no ground for complaint against me. Calandrino here wasthe night before last robbed of a fine pig, and cannot discover whohas had it ; and, for that it must have been stolen by some one of us

here, he would have each of you take and eat one of these pills and

drink of this vernaccia. Wherefore I forthwith do you to wit, that

whoso has had the pig will not be able to swallow the pill, but will

find it more bitter than poison, and will spit it out; and so, rather

than he should suffer this shame in presence of so many, 'twere

perhaps best that he that has had the pig should confess the fact to

the priest, and I will wash my hands of the affair.

All professed themselves ready enough to eat the pills ; and so,

having set them in a row with Calandrino among them, Bruno,

beginning at one end, proceeded to give each a pill, and when he

came to Calandrino he chose one of the pills of dog -ginger and put it

in his hand. Calandrino thrust it forthwith between his teeth and

began to chew it ; but no sooner was his tongue acquainted with the

aloes, than, finding the bitterness intolerable, he spat it out. Now,the eyes of all the company being fixed on one another to see who should

spit out his pill, Bruno, who, not having finished the distribution,

feigned to be concerned with nought else, heard some one in his rear

say : — Ha 1 Calandrino, what means this ?'* and at once turning

round, and marking that Calandrino had spit out his pill : — Wait a

while, quoth he, perchance 'twas somewhat else that caused thee

to spit : take another ; and thereupon whipping out the other pill of

dog-ginger, he set it between Calandrino's teeth, and finished the

distribution. Bitter as Calandrino had found the 'former pill, he

found this tenfold more so ; but being ashamed to spit it out, he kept

it a while in his mouth and chewed it, and, as he did so, tears stood in

his eyes that shewed as large as filberts, and at length, being unable

to bear it any longer, he spat it out, as he had its predecessor. Which

being observed by Buffalmacco and Bruno, who were then adminis-tering the wine, and by all the company, 'twas averred by commonconsent that Calandrino had committed the theft himself; for which

cause certain of them took him severely to task.

However, the company being dispersed, and Bruno and Buffal-

macco left alone with Calandrino, Buffalmacco began on this wise :



2o8 DECAMERON. [eighth day.

I never doubted but that thou hadst had it thyself, and wast minded

to make us believe that it had been stolen from thee, that we mightnot have of thee so much as a single drink out of the price which

thou gottest for it. Calandrino, with the bitterness of the aloes

still on his tongue, fell a swearing that he had not had it. Where-upon :

— Nay, but, comrade, quoth BufFalmacco, upon thy honour,

what did it fetch ? Six florins ? Whereto, Calandrino being nowon the verge of desperation, Bruno added :

— Now be reasonable,

Calandrino ; among the company that ate and drank with us there

was one that told me that thou hadst up there a girl that thou didst

keep for thy pleasure, giving her what by hook or by crook thou

couldst get together, and that he held it for certain that thou hadst

sent her this pig. And thou art grown expert in this sort of cozenage.

Thou tookest us one while adown the Mugnone a gathering black

stones, and having thus started us on a wild-goose chase, thou madest

off ; and then wouldst fain have us believe that thou hadst found the

stone : and now, in like manner, thou thinkest by thine oaths to

persuade us that this pig which thou hast given away or sold, has

been stolen from thee. But we know thy tricks of old ; never

another couldst thou play us ; and, to be round with thee, this spell

has cost us some trouble : wherefore we mean that thou shalt give

us two pair of capons, or we will let Monna Tessa knpw all. Seeing

that he was not believed, and deeming his mortification ample with-

out the addition of his wife's resentment, Calandrino gave them the

two pair of capons, with which, when the pig was salted, they

returned to Florence, leaving Calandrino with the loss and the laugh

against him.




the help of a maid in whom she placed much trust, not seldom speed

the time gaily and with marvellous delight. Meanwhile it so befell

that a young nobleman of our city, Rinieri by name, who had spent

much time in study at Paris, not that he might thereafter sell his

knowledge by retail, but that he might learn the reasons and causes

of things, which accomplishment shews to most excellent advantage

in a gentleman, returned to Florence, and there lived as a citizen in

no small honour with his fellows, both by reason of his rank and of

his learning. But as it is often the case that those who are most

versed in deep matters are the soonest mastered by Love, so was it

with Rinieri. For at a festal gathering, to which one day he went,

there appeared before his eyes this Elena, of whom we spoke, clad in

black, as is the wont of our Florentine widows, and shewing to his

mind so much fairer and more debonair than any other woman that

he had ever seen, that happy indeed he deemed the man might call

himself, to whom God in His goodness should grant the right to hold

her naked in his arms. So now and again he eyed her stealthily, and

knowing that boons goodly and precious are not to be gotten without

trouble, he made up his mind to study and labour with all assiduity

how best to please her, that so he might win her love, and thereby

the enjoyment of her.

The young gentlewoman was not used to keep her eyes bent

ever towards the infernal regions ; but, rating herself at no less, if not

more, than her deserts, she was dexterous to move them to and fro,

and thus busily scanning her company, soon detected the men whoregarded her with pleasure. By which means having discovered

Rinieri's passion, she inly laughed, and said :—'Twill turn out that

'twas not for nothing that I came here to-day, for, if I mistake not,

I have caught a gander by the bill. So she gave him an occasional

sidelong glance, and sought as best she might to make him believe

that she was not indifferent to him, deeming that the more men she

might captivate by her charms, the higher those charms would be

rated, and most especially by him whom she had made lord of themand her love. The erudite scholar bade adieu to philosophical medi-

tation, for the lady entirely engrossed his mind ; and, having dis-

covered her house, he, thinking to please her, found divers pretexts

for frequently passing by it. Whereon the lady, her vanity flattered

for the reason aforesaid, plumed herself not a little, and shewed herselr



SEVENTH STORY. DECAMERON. 211

pleased to sec him. Thus encouraged, the scholar found means to

make friends with her maid, to whom he discovered his love, prayingher to do her endeavour with her mistress, that he might have her

favour. The maid was profuse of promises, and gave her mistress his

message, which she no sooner heard, than she was convulsed with

laughter, and replied : — He brought sense enough hither from

Paris : knowest thou where he has since been to lose it ? Go to,

now ; let us give him that which he seeks. Tell him, when he next

speaks to you of the matter, that I love him vastly more than he

loves me, but that I must have regard to my reputation, so that I

may be able to hold my head up among other ladies ; which, if he is

really the wise man they say, will cause him to affect me much more.

Ah poor woman 1 poor woman she little knew, my ladies, howrash it is to try conclusions with scholars.

The maid found the scholar, and did her mistress's errand. Thescholar, overjoyed, proceeded to urge his suit with more ardour, to

indite letters, and send presents. The lady received all that he sent

her, but vouchsafed no answers save such as were couched in general

terms : and on this wise she kept him dangling a long while. At last,

having disclosed the whole affair to her lover, who evinced someresentment and jealousy, she, to convince him that his suspicions

were groundless, and for that she was much importuned by the

scholar, sent word to him by her maid, that never since he had

assured her of his love, had occasion served her to do him pleasure,

but that next Christmastide she hoped to be with him ; wherefore, if

he were minded to await her in the courtyard of her house on the

night of the day next following the feast, she would meet him there as

soon as she could. Elated as ne'er another, the scholar h ied him at

the appointed time to the lady's house, and being ushered into a court-

yard by the maid, who forthwith turned the key upon him, addressed

himself there to await the lady's coming.

Now the lady's lover, by her appointment, was with her that

evening ; and, when they had gaily supped, she told him what she hadin hand that night, adding : — And so thou wilt be able to gauge the

love which I have borne and bear this scholar, whom thou hast

foolishly regarded as a rival. The lover heard the lady's words with

no small delight, and waited in eager expectancy to see her makethem good. The scholar, hanging about there in the court)'ard,




began to find it somewhat chillier than he would have liked, for it

had snowed hard all day long, so that the snow lay everywherethick on the ground ; however, he bore it patiently, expecting to be

recompensed by and by. After a while the lady said to her lover :

Go we to the chamber and take a peep through a lattice at him of

whom thou art turned jealous, and mark what he does, and how he

will answer the maid, whom I have bidden go speak with him. So

the pair hied them to a lattice, wherethrough they could see without

being seen, and heard the maid call from another lattice to the

scholar, saying : — Rinieri, my lady is distressed as never womanwas, for that one of her brothers is come here to-night, and after

talking a long while with her, must needs sup with her, and is not

yet gone, but, I think, he will soon be ofF ; and that is the reason

why she has not been able to come to thee, but she will come soon

now. She trusts it does not irk thee to wait so long. Whereto the

scholar, supposing that 'twas true, made answer :— Tell my lady to

give herself no anxiety on my account, until she can conveniently

come to me, but to do so as soon as she may. Whereupon the maid

withdrew from the window, and went to bed ; while the lady said

to her lover : — Now, what sayst thou ? Thinkst thou that, if I had

that regard for him, which thou fearest, I would suffer him to tarry

below there to get frozen ? Which said, the lady and her nowpartly reassured lover got them to bed, where for a great while they

disported them right gamesomely, laughing together and making

merry over the luckless scholar.

The scholar, meanwhile, paced up and down the courtyard to

keep himself warm, nor indeed had he where to sit, or take shelter :

in this plight he bestowed many a curse upon the lady's brother for

his long tarrying, and never a sound did he hear but he thought that

'twas the lady opening the door. But vain indeed were his hopes :

the lady, having solaced herself with her lover until hard upon mid-

night, then said to him : — How ratest thou our scholar, my soul ?

whether is the greater his wit, or the love I bear him, thinkst thou ?

Will the cold, that, of my ordaining, he now suffers, banish from thy

breast the suspicion which my light words the other day implanted

there ? Ay, indeed, heart of my body replied the lover, well

wot I now that even as thou art to me, my weal, my consolation,

my bliss, so am I to thee. So : quoth the lady, then I must



SEVENTH STORV.] DECAMERON. ai3

have full a thousand kisses from thee, to prove that thou sayst sooth.

The lover's answer was to strain her to his heart, and give her not

merely a thousand but a hundred thousand kisses. In such converse

they dallied a while longer, and then :— Get we up, now, quoth

the lady^ '* that we may go sec if 'tis quite spent, that fire, with

which, as he wrote to me daily, this new lover of mine used to

burn. So up they got and hied them to the lattice which they had

used before, and peering out into the courtyard, saw the scholar

dancing a hornpipe to the music that his own teeth made, a chatter-

ing for extremity of cold ; nor had they ever seen it footed so nimbly

and at such a pace. Whereupon :— How sayst thou, sweet my

hope ? quoth the lady. ** Know I not how to make men dancewithout the aid of either trumpet or cornemuse ? Indeed thou

dost, my heart's delight, replied the lover. Quoth then the lady :

I have a mind that we go down to the door. Thou wilt keep

quiet, and I will speak to him, and we shall hear what he savs,

which, peradventure, we shall find no less diverting than the sii^ht

of him.

So they stole softly out of the chamber and down to the door,

which leaving fast closed, the lady set her lips to a little hole that

was there, and with a low voice called the scholar, who, hearing her

call him, praised God, making too sure that he was to be admitted,and being come to the door, said : — Here am I, Madam j open for

God's sake ; let me in, for I die of cold. Oh ay, replied the

lady, I know thou hast a chill, and of course, there being a little

snow about, 'tis mighty cold ; but well I wot the nights are colder

far at Paris. I cannot let thee in as yet, because my accursed

brother, that came to sup here this evening, is still with me j but he

will soon take himself ofF, and then I will let thee in without a

moment's delay. I have but now with no small difficulty given him

the slip, to come and give thee heart that the waiting irk thee not.

Nay but, Madam, replied the scholar, for the love of God, I

entreat you, let me in, that I may have a roof over my head, because

for some time past there has been never so thick a fall of snow, and

'tis yet snowing ; and then I will wait as long as you please.

*' Alas I sweet my love, quoth the lady, that I may not, for this

door makes such a din, when one opens it, that my brother would be

sure to hear, were I to let thee in j but I will go tell him to get him




gone, and so come back and admit thee. Go at once, then,

returned the scholar, and prithee, see that a good fire be kindled,

that, when I get in, I may warm myself, for I am now so chilled

through and through that I have scarce any feeling left. That

can scarce be, rejoined the lady, if it be true, what thou hast so

protested in thy letters, that thou art all afire for love of me ; 'tis

plain to me now that thou didst but mock me. I now take my leave

of thee : wait and be of good cheer.

So the lady and her lover, who, to his immense delight, had heard

all that passed, betook them to bed ; however, little sleep had they

that night, but spent the best part of it in disporting themselves and

making merry over the unfortunate scholar, who, his teeth nowchattering to such a tune that he seemed to have been metamorphosed

into a stork, perceived that he had been befooled, and after making

divers fruitless attempts to open the door and seeking means of egress

to no better purpose, paced to and fro like a lion, cursing the villain-

ous weather, the long night, his simplicity, and the perversity of the

lady, against whom (the vehemence of his wrath suddenly converting

the love he had so long borne her to bitter and remorseless enmity)

he now plotted within himself divers and grand schemes of revenge,

on which he was far more bent than ever he had been on forgathering

with her.Slowly the night wore away, and with the first streaks of dawn

the maid, by her mistress's direction, came down, opened the door of

the courtyard, and putting on a compassionate air, greeted Rinieri

with :— Foul fall him that came here yestereve ; he has afflicted us

with his presence all night long, and has kept thee a freezing out

here : but harkye, take it not amiss ; that which might not be

to-night shall be another time : well wot I that nought could have

befallen that my lady could so ill brook. For all his wrath, the

scholar, witting, like the wise man he was, that menaces serve but to

put the menaced on his guard, kept pent within his breast that which

unbridled resentment would have uttered, and said quietly, and

without betraying the least trace of anger : — In truth 'twas the

worst night I ever spent, but I understood quite well that the lady

was in no wise to blame, for that she herself, being moved to pity of

me, came down here to make her excuses, and to comfort me ; and,

as thou sayst, what has not been to-night will be another time :




wherefore commend me to her, and so, adieu Then, well-nigh

paralysed for cold, he got him, as best he might, home, where, wearyand fit to die for drowsiness, he threw himself on his bed, and fell

into a deep sleep, from which he awolce to find that he had all but

lost the use of his arms and legs. He therefore sent for some

physicians, and having told them what a chill he had gotten, caused

them have a care to his health. But, though they treated him with

active and most drastic remedies, it cost them some time and no little

trouble to restore to the cramped muscles their wonted pliancy, and,

indeed, but for his youth and the milder weather that was at hand,

'twould have gone very hard with him.

However, recover he did his health and lustihood, and nursinghis enmity, feigned to be vastly more enamoured of his widow than

ever before. And so it was that after a while Fortune furnished him

with an opportunity of satisfying his resentment, for the gallant of

whom the widow was enamoured, utterly regardless of the love she

bore him, grew enamoured of another lady, and was minded no more

to pleasure the widow in aught either by word or by deed ; where-

fore she now pined in tears and bitterness of spirit. However, her

maid, who commiserated her not a little, and knew not how to dispel

the dumps that the loss of her lover had caused her, espying the

scholar pass along the street, as he had been wont, conceived the

silly idea that the lady's lover might be induced to return to his old

love by some practice of a necromantic order, wherein she doubted

not that the scholar must be a thorough adept j which idea she

imparted to her mistress. The lady, being none too well furnished

with sense, never thinking that, if the scholar had been an adept in

necromancy, he would have made use of it in his own behoof, gave

heed to what her maid said, and forthwith bade her learn of the

scholar whether he would place his skill at her service, and assure

him that, if he so did, she, in guerdon thereof, would do his pleasure.

The maid did her mistress's errand well and faithfully. The scholar

no sooner heard the message, than he said to himself: —Praised be

Thy name, O God, that the time is now come, when with Thyhelp I may be avenged upon this wicked woman of the wrong she

did me in requital of the great love I bore her. Then, turning to

the maid, he said :— Tell my lady to set her mind at ease touching

this matter ; for that, were her lover in India, I would forthwith



2i6 DECAMERON. [eighth day.

bring him hither to crave her pardon of that wherein he has offended

her. As to the course she should take in the matter, I tarry but her

pleasure to make it known to her, when and where she may think

fit : tell her so, and bid her from me to be of good cheer. Themaid carried his answer to her mistress, and arranged that they should

meet in the- church of Santa Lucia of Prato. Thither accordingly

they came, the lady and the scholar, and conversed apart, and the

lady, quite oblivious of the ill-usage by which she had well-nigh done

him to death, opened all her mind to him, and besought him, if he had

any regard to her welfare, to aid her to the attainment of her desire.

Madam, replied the scholar, true it is that among other lore

that I acquired at Paris was this of necromancy, whereof, indeed, Iknow all that may be known ; but, as 'tis in the last degree displeasing

to God, I had sworn never to practise it either for my own or for any

other's behoof 'Tis also true that the love I bear you is such that I

know not how to refuse you aught that you would have me do for

you ; and so, were this single essay enough to consign me to hell,

I would adventure it to pleasure you. But I mind me that *tis a

matter scarce so easy of performance as, perchance, you suppose,

most especially when a woman would fain recover the love of a man,

or a man that of a woman, for then it must be done by the postulant

in proper person, and at night, and in lonely places, and unattended,

so that it needs a stout heart ; nor know I whether you are disposed

to comply with these conditions. The lady, too enamoured to be

discreet, made answer : — So shrewdly does Love goad me, that

there is nought I would not do to bring him back to me who wrong-

fully has deserted me ; but tell me, prithee, wherein it is that I have

need of this stout heart. Madam, returned the despiteful scholar,

'twill be my part to fashion in tin an image of him you would fain

lure back to you : and when I have sent you the image, 'twill be for

you, when the moon is well on the wane, to dip yourself, being stark

naked, and the image, seven times in a flowing stream, and this you

must do quite alone about the hour of first sleep, and afterwards, still

naked, you must get you upon some tree or some deserted house, andfacing the North, with the image in your hand, say certain wordsthat I shall give you in writing seven times ; which, when you have

done, there will come to you two damsels, the fairest you ever saw,

who will greet you graciously, and ask of you what you would fain



SEVENTH STORY.] DECAMERON. ai7

have ; to whom you will disclose frankly and fully all that you

crave ; and see to it that you make no mistake in the name ; andwhen you have said all, they will depart, and you may tlien descend

and return to the spot where you left your clothes, and resume them,

and go home. And rest assured, that before the ensuing midnight

your lover will come to you in tears, and crave your pardon and

mercy, and that thenceforth he will never again desert you for any

other woman.The lady gave entire credence to the scholar's words, and deem-

ing her lover as good as in her arms again, recovered half her wonted

spirits : wherefore :— Make no doubt, quoth she, that I shall do

as thou biddest ; and indeed I am most favoured by circumstance i

for in upper Val d'Arno I have an estate adjoining the river, and 'tis

now July, so that to bathe will be delightful. Ay, and now I mind

me that at no great distance from the river there is a little tower,

which is deserted, save that now and again the shepherds will get

them up by the chestnut-wood ladder to the roof, thence to look out

for their strayed sheep ; 'tis a place lonely indeed, and quite out of

ken ; and when I have clomb it, as climb it I will, I doubt not 'twill

be the best place in all the world to give effect to your instructions.

Well pleased to be certified of the lady's intention, the scholar,

to whom her estate and the tower were very well known, madeanswer : —*' I was never in those parts. Madam, and therefore knowneither your estate nor the tower, but, if 'tis as you say, 'twill cer-

tainly be the best place in the world for your purpose. So, whentime shall serve, I will send you the image and the orison. But I

pray you, when you shall have your heart's desire, and know that

I have done you good service, do not forget me, but keep your

promise to me. That will I without fail, quoth the lady j and

so she bade him farewell, and went home. The scholar, gleefully

anticipating the success of his enterprise, fashioned an image, and

inscribed it with certain magical signs, and wrote some gibberish

by way of orison, which in due time he sent to the lady, bidding her

the very next night do as he had prescribed : and thereupon he

hied him privily with one of his servants to the house of a friend

hard by the tower, there to carry his purpose into effect*. The lady,

on her part, set out with her maid, and betook her to her estate, and,

night being come, sent the maid to bed, as if she were minded to gc




to rest herself J and about the hour of first sleep stole out of the

house and down to the tower, beside the Arno ; and when, having

carefully looked about her, she was satisfied that never a soul was to

be seen or heard, she took off her clothes and hid them under a bush

then, with the image in her hand, she dipped herself seven times in

the river ; which done, she hied her with the image to the tower.

The scholar, having at nightfall couched himself with his servant

among the willows and other trees that fringed the bank, marked

all that she did, and how, as she passed by him, the whiteness of her

flesh dispelled the shades of night, and scanning attentively her

bosom and every other part of her body, and finding them very fair,

felt, as he bethought him what would shortly befall them, some pity

of her ; while, on the other hand, he was suddenly assailed by the

solicitations of the flesh which caused that to stand which had been

inert, and prompted him to sally forth of his ambush and take her by

force, and have his pleasure of her. And, what v/ith his compassion

and passion, he was like to be worsted j but then, as he bethought

him who he was, and what a grievous wrong had been done him,

and for what cause, and by whom, his wrath, thus rekindled, got the

better of the other affections, so that he swerved not from his resolve,

but suffered her to go her way.

The lady ascended the tower, and standing with herface to the

North, began to recite the scholar's orison, while he, having stolen

into the tower but a little behind her, cautiously shifted the ladder

that led up to the roof on which the lady stood, and waited to

observe what she would say and do. Seven times the lady said the

orison, and then av^aited the appearance of the two damsels ; and so

long had she to wait —not to mention that the night was a good deal

cooler than she would have liked —that she saw day break ; where-

upon, disconcerted that it had not fallen out as the scholar had

promised, she said to herself : —I misdoubt me he was minded to

give me such a night as I gave him ; but if such was his intent, he

is but maladroit in his revenge, for this night is not as long by a third

as his was, besides which, the cold is of another quality. And that

day might not overtake her there, she began to think of descending,

but, finding that the ladder was removed, she felt as if the world had

come to nought beneath her feet, her senses reeled, and she fell in a

swoon upon the floor of the roof. When she came to herself, she



SEVENTH 8T0RY.] DECAMERON. 219

burst into tears and piteous lamentations, and witting now very well

that 'twas the doing of the scholar, she began to repent her that »hc

had first offended him, and then trusted him unduly, having such

good cause to reckon upon his enmity; in which frame she abode

long time. Then, searching if haply she might find some means of

descent, and finding none, she fell a weeping again, and bitterly to

herself she said : —Alas for thee, wretched woman what will thy

brothers, thy kinsmen, thy neighbours, nay, what will all Florence

say of thee, when 'tis known that thou hast been found here naked ?

Thy honour, hitherto unsuspect, will be known to have been but

a shew, and shouldst thou seek thy defence in lying excuses, if any

such may be fashioned, the accursed scholar, who knows all thydoings, will not suffer it. Ah poor wretch that at one and the

same time hast lost thy too dearly cherished gallant and thine ownhonour And therewith she was taken with such a transport of

grief, that she was like to cast herself from the tower to the ground.

Then, bethinking her that if she might espy some lad making towards

the tower with his sheep, she might send him for her maid, for the

sun was now risen, she approached one of the parapets of the tower,

and looked out, and so it befell that the scholar, awakening from a

slumber, in which he had lain a while at the foot of a bush, espied

her, and she him. Whereupon:—

Good-day, Madam, quoth he :

are the damsels yet come? The lady saw and heard him not

without bursting afresh into a flood of tears, and besought him to

come into the tower, that she might speak with him: a request which

the scholar very courteously granted. The lady then threw herself

prone on the floor of the roof; and, only her head being visible

through the aperture, thus through her sobs she spoke :— Verily,

Rinieri, if I gave thee a bad night, thou art well avenged on me, for,

though it be July, meseemed I was sore a cold last night, standing

here with never a thread upon me, and, besides, I have so bitterly

be wept both the trick I played thee and my own folly in trusting

thee, that I marvel that I have still eyes in my head. Wherefore

I implore thee, not for love of me, whomthou hast no cause to love,

but for the respect thou hast for thyself as a gentleman, that thou let

that which thou hast already done suffice thee to avenge the wrong

I did thee, and bring me my clothes, that I may be able to get medown from here, and spare to take from me that which, however




thou mightst hereafter wish, thou couldst not restore to me, to wit,

my honour ; whereas, if I deprived thee of that one night with me,

'tis in my power to give thee many another night in recompense

thereof, and thou hast but to choose thine own times. Let this,

then, suffice, and like a worthy gentleman be satisfied to have taken

thy revenge, and to have let me know it : put not forth thy might

against a woman : 'tis no glory to the eagle to have vanquished a

dove ; wherefore for God's and thine own honour's sake have mercy

on me.

The scholar, albeit his haughty spirit still brooded on her evil

entreatment of him, yet saw her not weep and supplicate without

a certain compunction mingling with his exultation ; but vengeancehe had desired above all things, to have wreaked it was indeed sweet,

and albeit his humanity prompted him to have compassion on the

hapless woman, yet it availed not to subdue the fierceness of his

resentment ; wherefore thus he made answer : — Madam Elena,

had my prayers (albeit art I had none to mingle with them tears

and honeyed words as thou dost with thine) inclined thee that night,

when I stood perishing with cold amid the snow that filled thy

courtyard, to accord me the vefy least shelter, 'twere but a light

matter for me to hearken now to thine j but, if thou art now so

much more careful of thy honour than thou wast wont to be, andit irks thee to tarry there naked, address thy prayers to him in whose

arms it irked thee not naked to pass that night thou mindest thee

of, albeit thou wist that I with hasty foot was beating time upon

the snow in thy courtyard to the accompaniment of chattering

teeth : 'tis he that thou shouldst call to succour thee, to fetch thy

clothes, to adjust the ladder for thy descent ; 'tis he in whom thou

shouldst labour to inspire this tenderness thou now shewest for thy

honour, that honour which for his sake thou hast not scrupled to

jeopardize both, now and on a thousand other occasions. Why,then, call'st thou not him to come to thy succour.? To whompertains it rather than to him ? Thou art his. And of whom will

he have a care, whom will he succour, if not thee ? Thou askedst

him that night, when thou wast wantoning with him, whether

seemed to him the greater, my folly or the love thou didst bear

him : call him now, foolish woman, and see if the love thou bearest

him, and thy wit and his, may avail to deliver thee from my folly.



SEVENTH STORV.] DECAMERON. 221

'Tis now no longer in thy power to shew me courtesy of that which

I no more desire, nor yet to refuse it, did I desire it. Reserve thynights for thy lover, if so be thou go hence alive. Be they all thine

and his. One of them was more than I cared for ; 'tis enough for

me to have been flouted once. Ay, and by thy cunning of speech

thou strivest might and main to conciliate my good-will, calling meworthy gentleman, by which insinuation thou wouldst fain induce

me magnanimously to desist from further chastisement of thy base-

ness. But thy cajoleries shall not now cloud the eyes of my mind,

as did once thy false promises. I know myself, and better now for

thy one night's instruction than for all the time I spent at Paris.

But, granted that I were disposed to be magnanimous, thou art notof those to whom 'tis meet to shew magnanimity. A wild beast

such as thou, having merited vengeance, can claim no relief

from suflxring save death, though in the case of a human being

'twould suffice to temper vengeance with mercy, as thou saidst.

Wherefore 1, albeit no eagle, witting thee to be no dove, but a

venomous serpent, mankind's most ancient enemy, am minded,

bating no jot of malice or of might, to harry thee to the bitter end :

natheless this which I do is not properly to be called vengeance but

rather just retribution ; seeing that vengeance should be in excess

of the offence, and this my chastisement of thee will fall short of

it ; for, were I minded to be avenged on thee, considering what

account thou madest of my heart and soul, 'twould not suffice meto take thy life, no, nor the lives of a hundred others such as thee ;

for I should but slay a vile and base and wicked woman. Andwhat the Devil art thou more than any other pitiful baggage, that

I should spare thy little store of beauty, which a few years will

ruin, covering thy face with wrinkles ? And yet 'twas not for

want of will that thou didst fail to do to death a worthy gentleman,

as thou but now didst call me, of whom in a single day of his life

the world may well have more profit than of a hundred thousand

like thee while the world shall last. Wherefore by this rude

discipline I will teach thee what it is to flout men of spirit, and

more especially what it is to flout scholars, that if thou escape with

thy life thou mayst have good cause ever hereafter to shun such

folly. But if thou art so fain to make the descent, why cast not

thyself down, whereby, God helping, thou wouldst at once




break thy neck, be quit of the torment thou endurest, and make

me the happiest man alive ? I have no more to say to thee. 'Twasmy art and craft thus caused thee climb ; be it thine to find the

way down : thou hadst cunning enough, when thou wast minded

to flout me.

While the scholar thus spoke, the hapless lady wept incessantly,

and before he had done, to aggravate her misery, the sun was high

in the heaven. However, when he was silent, thus she madeanswer :

— Ah ruthless man, if that accursed night has so rankled

with thee, and thou deemest my fault so grave that neither my youth

and beauty, nor my bitter tears, nor yet my humble supplications maymove thee to pity, let this at least move thee, and abate somewhat

of thy remorseless severity, that 'twas my act alone, in that of late

I trusted thee, and discovered to thee all my secret, that did open

the way to compass thy end, and make me cognizant of my guilt,

seeing that, had I not confided in thee, on no wise mightst thou

have been avenged on me ; which thou wouldst seem so ardently

to have desired. Turn thee, then, turn thee, I pray thee, from thy

wrath, and pardon me. So thou wilt pardon me, and get me downhence, right gladly will I give up for ever my faithless gallant, and

thou shalt be my sole lover and lord, albeit thou sayst hard things

of my beauty, slight and shortlived as thou wouldst have it to be,

which, however it may compare with others, is, I wot, to be prized,

if for no other reason, yet for this, that 'tis the admiration

and solace and delight of young men, and thou art not yet old.

And albeit I have been harshly treated by thee, yet believe I cannot

that thou wouldst have me do myself so shamefully to death as to

cast me down, like some abandoned wretch, before thine eyes, in

which, unless thou wast then, as thou hast since shewn thyself, a

liar, I found such favour. Ah have pity on me for God's and

mercy's sake The sun waxes exceeding hot, and having suffered

not a little by the cold of last night, I now' begin to be sorely afflicted

by the heat.Madam, rejoined the scholar, who held her in parley with no

small delight, 'twas not for any love that thou didst bear me that

thou trustedst me, but that thou mightst recover that which thou

hadst lost, for which cause thou meritest but the greater punishment;

and foolish indeed art thou if thou supposest that such was the sole




should be lasting, as thou hast but now proved and mayst only too

truly witness. Moreover to be worshipped, to be caressed by their

ladies they deem but their due ; nor is there aught whereon they

plume and boast them so proudly as their conquests : which imperti-

nence has caused not a few women to surrender to the friars, whokeep their own counsel. Peradventure thou wilt say that never a

soul save thy maid and I wist aught of thy loves ; but, if so, thou

hast been misinformed, and if thou so believest, thou dost misbelieve.

Scarce aught else is talked of either in his quarter or in thine j but

most often 'tis those most concerned whose ears such matters reach

last. Moreover, they rob you, these young gallants, whereas the

others make you presents. So, then, having made a bad choice, bethou still his to whom thou hast given thyself, and leave me, whomthou didst flout, to another, for I have f9und a lady of much greater

charms than thine, and that has understood me better than thou

didst. And that thou mayst get thee to the other world better

certified of the desire of my eyes than thou wouldst seem to be here

by my words, delay no more, but cast thyself down, whereby thy

soul, taken forthwith, as I doubt not she will be, into the embrace

of the Devil, may see whether thy headlong fall afflicts mine eyes, or

no. But, for that I doubt thou meanest not thus to gladden me,

I bid thee, if thou findest the sun begin to scorch thee, remember the

cold thou didst cause me to endure, wherewith, by admixture, thou

mayst readily temper the sun's heat.

The hapless lady, seeing that the scholar's words were ever to the

same ruthless effect, burst afresh into tears, and said : — Lo, now,since nought that pertains to me may move thee, be thou at least

moved by the love thou bearest this lady of whom thou speakest, who,

thou sayst, is wiser than I, and loves thee, and for love of her pardon me,

and fetch me my clothes, that I may resume them, and get me downhence. Whereat the scholar fell a laughing, and seeing that 'twas

not a little past tierce, made answer: — Lo, now, I know not howto deny thee, adjuring me as thou dost by such a lady : tell me, then,

where thy clothes are, and I will go fetch them, and bring thee

down. The lady, believing him, was somewhat comforted, and

told him where she had laid her clothes. The scholar then quitted

the tower, bidding his servant on no account to stir from his post,

but to keep close by, and, as best he might, bar the tower against all




comers until his return : which said, he betook him to the house of

his friend, where he breakfiistcd much at his ease, and thereafter

went to sleep. Left alone upon the tower, the lady, somewhatcheered by her fond hope, but still exceeding sorrowful, drew nighto a part of the wall where there was a little shade, and there sate

down to wait. And now lostJin most melancholy brooding, nowdissolved in tears, now plunged in despair of ever seeing the scholar

return with her clothes, but never more than a brief while in any onemood, spent with grief and the night's vigil, she by and by fell asleep.

The sun was now in the zenith, and smote with extreme fervour

full and unmitigated upon her tender and delicate frame, and upon

her bare head, insomuch that his rays did not only scorch but bit bybit excoriate every part of her flesh that was exposed to them, and so

shrewdly burn her that , albeit she was in a deep sleep, the pain

awoke her. And as by reason thereof she writhed a little, she felt

the scorched skin part in sunder and shed itself, as will happen whenone tugs at a parchment that has been singed by the fire, while her

head ached so sore that it seemed like to split, and no wonder. Normight she find place either to lie or to stand on the floor of the roof,

but ever went to and fro, weeping. Besides which there stirred not

the least breath of wind, and flies and gadflies did swarm in prodigious

quantity, which, settling upon her excoriate flesh, stung her so shrewdly

that 'twas as if she received so many stabs with a javelin, and she wasever restlessly feeling her sores with her hands, and cursing herself,

her life, her lover, and the scholar.

Thus by the exorbitant heat of the sun, by the flies and gadflies,

harassed, goaded, and lacerated, tormented also by hunger, and yet

more by thirst, and thereto by a thousand distressful thoughts, she

planted herself erect on her feet, and looked about her, if haply she

might see or hear any one, with intent, come what might, to call

to him and crave his succour. But even this hostile Fortune had

disallowed her. The husbandmen were all gone from the fields by

reason of the heat, and indeed there had come none to work that

day in the neighbourhood of the tower, for that all Were employed in

threshing their corn beside their cottages : wherefore she heard but

the cicalas, while Arno, tantalizing her with the sight of his waters,

increased rather than diminished her thirst. Ay, and in like manner,

wherever she espied a copse, or a patch of shade, or a house, 'twas a

VOL. II.. «




torment to her, for the longing she had for it. What more is to be

said of this hapless woman ? Only this : that what with the heat of

the sun above and the floor beneath her, and the scarification of her

flesh in every part by the flies and gadflies, that flesh, which in the

night had dispelled the gloom by its whiteness, was now become red

as madder, and so besprent with cla^s of blood, that whoso had seen

her would have deemed her the most hideous object in the world.

Thus resourceless and hopeless, she passed the long hours, expect-

ing death rather than aught else, until half none was come and gone;

when, his siesta ended, the scholar bethought him of his lady, and

being minded to see how she fared, hied him back to the tower, and

sent his servant away to break hisfast.

As soon as the lady espiedhim, she came, spent and crushed by her sore affliction, to the aper-

ture, and thus addressed him :— Rinieri, the cup of thy vengeance

is full to overflowing : for if I gave thee a night of freezing in mycourtyard, thou hast given me upon this tower a day of scorching,

nay, of burning, and therewithal of perishing of hunger and thirst

wherefore, by God I entreat thee to come up hither, and as my heart

fails me to take my life, take it thou, for 'tis death I desire of all

things, such and so grievous is my suffering. But if this grace thou

wilt not grant, at least bring me a cup of water wherewith to lave

my mouth, for which my tears do not suffice, so parched and torrid is

it within. Well wist the scholar by her voice how spent she was j

he also saw a part of her body burned through and through by the

sun ; whereby, and by reason of the lowliness of her entreaties, he

felt some little pity for her ; but all the same he made answer :

Nay, wicked woman, 'tis not by my hands thou shalt die ; thou

canst die by thine own whenever thou art so minded ; and to temper

thy heat thou shalt have just as much water from me as I had fire

from thee to mitigate my cold. I only regret that for the cure of

my chill the physicians were fain to use foul-smelling muck, whereas

thy burns can be treated with fragrant rose-water ; and that, whereas

I was like to lose my muscles and the use of my limbs, thou, for all

thy excoriation by the heat, wilt yet be fair again, like a snake that

has sloughed ofF the old skin. Alas woe's me replied the

lady, for charms acquired at such a cost, God grant them to those

that hate me. But thou, most fell of all wild beasts, how hast thou

borne thus, to torture me ? What more had I to expect of thee or




any other, had I done all thy kith and kin to death with direst

torments ? Verily, I know not what more cruel suffering thou

couldst have inflicted on a traitor that had put a whole city to the

slaughter than this which thou hast allotted to me, to be thus roasted,

and devoured of the flies, and therewithal to refuse me even a cup of

water, though the very murderers condemned to death by the law,

as they go to execution, not seldom arc allowed wine to drink, so they

but ask it. Lo now, I see that thou art inexorable in thy ruthless-

ness, and on no wise to be moved by my suffering : wherefore with

resignation I will compose me to await death, that God may have

mercy on my soul. And may this that thou docst escape not the

searching glance of His just eyes. Which said, she dragged herself,

sore suffering, toward the middle of the floor, despairing of ever

escaping from her fiery torment, besides which, not once only, but a

thousand times she thought to choke for thirst, and ever she wept

bitterly and bewailed her evil fate. But at length the day wore to

vespers, and the scholar, being sated with his revenge, caused his

servant to take her clothes and wrap them in his cloak, and hied himwith the servant to the hapless lady's house, where, finding her maid

sitting disconsolate and woebegone and resourceless at the door :

Good woman, quoth he, what has befallen thy mistress ?

Whereto :— Sir, I know not, replied the maid. I looked to find

her this morning abed, for methought she went to bed last night,

but neither there nor anywhere else could I find her, nor know I

what is become of her ; wherefore exceeding great is my distress ;

but have you. Sir, nought to say of the matter ? ** Only this,

returned the scholar, that I would I had had thee with her there

where I have had her, that I might have requited thee of thy offence,

even as I have requited her of hers. But be assured that thou shalt

not escape my hands, until thou hast from me such wage of thy

labour that thou shalt never flout man more, but thou shalt mind

thee of me. Then, turning to his servant, he said :— Give her

these clothes, and tell her that she may go bring her mistress away,

if she will. The servant did his bidding ; and the maid, what

with the message and her recognition of the clothes, was mightily

afraid, lest they had slain the lady, and scarce suppressing a shriek,

took the clothes, and, bursting into tears, set off, as soon as the

scholar was gone, at a run for the tower.




beyond measure, and wept again so pitcously that not only was the

husbandman powerless to comfort her, but was himself fain to weep.However, as the sun was now low, that they might not be there

surprised by night, he, with the disconsolate lady's approval, hied himhome, and called to his aid two of his brothers and his wife, whoreturned with him, bearing a plank, whereon they laid the maid, and

so they carried her to the lady's house. There, by dint of cold

water and words of cheer, they restored some heart to the lady,

whom the husbandman then took upon his shoulders, and bore to her

chamber. The husbandman's wife fed her with sops of bread, andthen undressed her, and put her to bed. They also provided the

means to carry her and the maid to Florence ; and so 'twas done.There the lady, who was very fertile in artifices, invented an entirely

fictitious story of what had happened as well in regard of her maid

as of herself, whereby she persuaded both her brothers and her sisters

and every one else, that 'twas all due to the enchantments of evil

spirits. The physicians lost no time, and, albeit the lady's suffering

and mortification were extreme, for she left more than one skin stick-

ing to the sheets, they cured her of a high fever, and certain attendant

maladies j as also the maid of her fractured thigh. The end of all

which was that the lady forgot her lover, and having learned dis-

cretion, was thenceforth careful neither to love nor to flout ; and the

scholar, learning that the maid had broken her thigh, deemed his

vengeance complete, and was satisfied to say never a word more of

the affair. Such then were the consequences of her flouts to this

foolish young woman, who deemed that she might trifle with a

scholar with the like impunity as with others, not duly understanding

that they —I say not all, but the more part —know where the Devil

keeps his tail.^ Wherefore, my ladies, have a care how you flout

men, and more especially scholars.

1 /. e. are a match for the Devil himself in cunning.



NOVEL VIII.

Two men keep with one another : the one lies with the other's

wife : the other, being ware thereof, manages with the

aid of his wife to have the one locked in a chest, uponwhich he then lies with the wife of him that is locked

therein.

Grievous and distressful was it to the ladies to hear how it fared

with Elena j but as they accounted the retribution in a measure

righteous, they were satisfied to expend upon her but a moderate

degree of compassion, albeit they censured the scholar as severe,

intemperately relentless, and indeed ruthless, in his vengeance.

However, Pampinea having brought the story to a close, the queen

bade Fiammetta follow suit ; and prompt to obey, Fiammetta thusspoke : —Debonair my ladies, as, methinks, your feelings must have

been somewhat harrowed by the severity of the resentful scholar, I

deem it meet to soothe your vexed spirits with something of a more

cheerful order. Wherefore I am minded to tell you a little story of

a young man who bore an affront in a milder temper, and avenged

himself with more moderation. Whereby you may understand that

one should be satisfied if the ass and the wall are quits, nor by

indulging a vindictive spirit to excess turn the requital of a wrong

into an occasion of wrong-doing. You are to know, then, that at Siena,

as I have heard tell, there dwelt two young men of good substance,

and, for plebeians, of good family, the one Spinelloccio Tanena, the

other Zeppa di Mino, by name j who, their houses being contiguous

in the Camollia,^ kept ever together, and, by what appeared, loved

each other as brothers, or even more so, and had each a very fine

1 A suburb of SieDa.

230




woman to wife. Now it so befell that Spinelloccio, being much in

Zeppa's house, as well when Zeppa was not, as when he was there,

grew so familiar with Zeppa's wife, that he sometimes lay with her

and on this wise they continued to forgather a great while before any

one was ware of it. However, one of these days Zeppa being at

home, though the lady wist it not, Spinelloccio came in quest of

him ; and, the lady sending word that he was not at home, he forth-

with went upstairs and found the lady in the saloon, and seeing none

else there, kissed her, as did she him.

Zeppa saw all that passed, but said nothing and kept close, being

minded to see how the game would end, and soon saw his wife and

Spinelloccio,still in

oneanother's arms, hie

them to her chamber andlock themselves in : whereat he was mightily incensed. But, witting

that to make a noise, or do aught else overt, would not lessen but

rather increase his dishonour, he cast about how he might be avenged

on such wise that, without the affair getting wind, he might content

his soul ; and having, after long pondering, hit, as he thought, upon

the expedient, he budged not from his retreat, until Spinelloccio had

parted from the lady. Whereupon he hied him into the chamber,

and there finding the lady with her head-gear, which Spinelloccio in

toying with her had disarranged, scarce yet readjusted :— Madam,

what dost thou? quoth he. Whereto: — Why, dost not see?

returned the lady. Troth do I, rejoined he, *' and somewhat else

have I seen that I would I had not. And so he questioned her or

what had passed, and she, being mightily afraid, did after long parley

confess that which she might not plausibly deny, to wit, her intimacy

with Spinelloccio, and fell a beseeching him with tears to pardon her.

Lo, now, wife, quoth Zeppa, thou hast done wrong, and, so thou

wouldst have me pardon thee, have a care to do exactly as I shall bid

thee ; to wit, on this wise : thou must tell Spinelloccio to find some

occasion to part from me to-morrow morning about tierce, and comehither to thee ; and while he is here I will come back, and whenthou hearest me coming, thou wilt get him into this chest, and lock

him in there ; which when thou hast done, I will tell thee what else

thou hast to do, which thou mayst do without the least misgiving,

for I promise thee I will do him no harm. The lady, to content

him, promised to do as he bade, and she kept her word.

The morrow came, and Zeppa and Spinelloccio being together




make such play with him that neither thou nor he shall ever be

happy again. The lady hearkening, and by dint of his repeated

asseverations coming at length to believe him : — Zeppa mine,**

quoth she, as this thy vengeance is to light upon me, well content

am I ; so only thou let not this which we are to do embroil me with

thy wife, with whom, notwithstanding the evil turn she has doneme, I am minded to remain at peace.** Have no fear on that

score, replied Zcppa; nay, I will give thee into the bargain a

jewel so rare and fair that thou hast not the like.** Which said,

he took her in his arms and fell a kissing her, and having laid heiA

on the chest, in which her husband was safe under lock and key,

did there disport himself with her to his heart's content, as she withhim.

'

Spinelloccio in the chest heard all that Zeppa had said, and howhe was answered by the lady, and the Trevisan dance that afterwards

went on over his head j whereat his mortification was such that for

a great while he scarce hoped to live through it ; and, but for the fear

he had of Zeppa, he would have given his wife a sound rating, close

prisoner though he was. But, as he bethought him that *twas he

that had given the first affront, and that Zeppa had good cause for

acting as he did, and that he had dealt with him considerately and

as a good fellow should, he resolved that if it were agreeable to

Zeppa, they should be faster friends than ever before. However,

Zeppa, having had his pleasure with the lady, got down from the

chest, and being reminded by the lady of his promise of the jewel,

opened the door of the chamber and brought his wife in. Quothshe with a laugh : — Madam, you have given me tit for tat, and

never a word more. Whereupon: — Open the chest, quoth

Zeppa ; and she obeying, he shewed the lady her Spinelloccio lying

therein. 'Twould be hard to say whether of the twain was the

more shame-stricken, Spinelloccio to be confronted with Zeppa,

knowing that Zeppa wist what he had done, or the lady to meet her

husband's eyes, knowing that he had heard what went on above his

head. Lo, here is the jewel I give thee, quoth Zeppa to her,

pointing to Spinelloccio, who, as he came forth of the chest, blurted

out : — Zeppa, we are quits, and so 'twere best, as thou saidst a while

ago to my wife, that we still be friends as we were wont, and as wehad nought separate, save bur wives, that henceforth we have them




also in common. Content, quoth Zeppa j and so in perfect

peace and accord they all four breakfasted together. And thenceforth

each of the ladies had two husbands, and each of the husbands twowives ; nor was there ever the least dispute or contention between

them on that score.




a doctor, as he called himself, and took a house in the street that we

now call Via del Cocomero, Now this Master Simone, being thus, as

we said, come back, had this among other singular habits, that he could

never see a soul pass along the street, but he must needs ask any that

was by, who that man was ; and he was as observant of all the doings

of men, and as sedulous to store his memory with such matters, as

if they were to serve him to compound the drugs that he was to give

his patients. Now, of all that he saw, those that he eyed most observ-

antly were two painters, of whom here to-day mention has twice

been made, Bruno, to wit, and BufFalmacco, who were ever together,

and were his neighbours. And as it struck him that they dafFed the

world aside and lived more lightheartedly than any others that heknew, as indeed they did, he enquired of not a few folk as to their

rank. And learning on all hands that they were poor men and

painters, he could not conceive it possible that they should live thus

contentedly in poverty, but made his mind up that, being, as he was

informed, clever fellows, they must have some secret source from

which they drew immense gains ; for which reason he grew all agog

to get on friendly terms with them, or any rate with one of them,

and did succeed in making friends with Bruno.

Bruno, who had not needed to be much with him in order to

discover that this physician was but a dolt, had never such a jolly

time in palming ofF his strange stories upon him, while the physician,

on his par t, was marvellously delighted with Bruno j to whom, having

bidden him to breakfast, and thinking that for that reason he might

talk familiarly with him, he expressed the amazement with which

he regarded both him and Buffalmacco, for that, being but poor men,

they lived so lightheartedly, and asked him to tell him how they

managed. At which fresh proof of the doctor's simplicity and

fatuity Bruno was inclined to laugh ; but, bethinking him that

'twere best to answer him according to his folly, he said :—*' Master,

there are not many persons to whom I would disclose our manner

of life, but, as you are my friend, and I know you will not let it gofurther, I do not mind telling you. The fact is that my comrade

and I live not only as lightheartedly and jovial ly as you see, but

much more so ; and yet neither our art, nor any property that wepossess, yields us enough to keep us in water : not that I would

have you suppose that we go a thieving : no, 'tis that we go the




course, and thereby without the least harm done to a soul we get all

that we need, nay, all that we desire ; and thus it is that we live so

lightheartcdly as you see. Which explanation the doctor believing

none the less readily that he knew not what it meant, was lost in

wonder, and forthwith burned with a most vehement desire to knowwhat going the course might be, and was instant with Bruno to

expound it, assuring him that he would never tell a soul. Alas

Master, sard Bruno, what is this you ask of me ? 'Tis a mighty

great secret you would have me impart to you : 'twould be enough

to undo me, to send mc packing out of the world, nay, into the very

jaws of Lucifer of San Gallo,i jf jj came to be known. But such is

the respect in whichI

hold yourquiditative

pumpionship of Legnaia,and the trust I repose in you, that 1 am not able to deny you aught

you ask of me ; and so I will tell it you, on condition that you swear

by the cross at Montesone that you will keep your promise, and

never repeat it to a soul.

The Master gave the required assurance. Whereupon :—'* You

are then to know, quoth Bruno, sweet my Master, that 'tis not

long since there was in this city a great master in necromancy, hight

Michael Scott, for that he was of Scotland, and great indeed was the

honour in which he was held by not a few gentlemen, most of whomare now dead ; and when the time came that he must needs depart

from Florence, he at their instant entreaty left behind him two

pupils, adepts both, whom he bade hold themselves ever ready to

pleasure those gentlemen who had done him honour. And very

handsomely they did serve the said gentlemen in certain of their love

affairs and other little matters ; and finding the city and the manners

of the citizens agreeable to them, they made up their minds to stay

here always, and grew friendly and very intimate with some of the

citizens, making no distinction between gentle and simple, rich or

poor, so only they were such as were conformable to their ways.

And to gratify these their friends they formed a company of perhaps

twenty-five men, to meet together at least twice a month in a place

appointed by them ; where, when they are met, each utters his

desire, and forthwith that same night they accomplish it. NowBuffalmacco and I, being extraordinarily great and close friends with

1 Perhaps an allusion to some frightful picture.




these two adepts, were by them enrolled in this company, and are

still members of it. And I assure you that, as often as we are

assembled together, the adornments of the saloon in which we eat

are a marvel to see, ay, and the tables laid as for kings, and the

multitudes of stately and handsome servants, as well women as men,

at the beck and call of every member of the company, and the basins,

and the ewers, the flasks and the cups, and all else that is there for

our service in eating and drinking, of nought but gold and silver, and

therewithal the abundance and variety of the viands, suited to the

taste of each, that are set before us, each in due course, these too be

marvels. 'Twere vain for me to seek to describe to you the sweet

concord that is there of innumerable instruments of music, and the

tuneful songs that salute our ears j nor might I hope to tell you howmuch wax is burned at these banquets, or compute the quantity of the

comfits that are eaten, or the value of the wines that are drunk.

Nor, my pumpkin o' wit, would I have . you suppose that, when weare there, we wear our common clothes, such as you now see mewear ; nay, there is none there so humble but he shews as an

emperor, so sumptuous are our garments, so splendid our trappings.

But among all the delights of the place none may compare with the

fair ladies, who, so one do but wish, are brought thither from every

part of the world. Why, you might see there My Lady of the

Barbanichs, the Queen of the Basques, the Consort of the Soldan,

the Empress of Osbech, the Ciancianfera of Nornieca, the Semistante

of Berlinzone,and the Scalpedra of Narsia. But why seek to enumerate

them all ? They include all the queens in the world, ay, even to

the Schinchimurra of Prester John, who has the horns sprouting out

of her nether end : so there's for you. Now when these ladies have

done with the wine and the comfits, they tread a measure or two,

each with the man at whose behest she is come, and then all go with

their gallants to their chambers. And know that each of these

chambers shews as a very Paradise, so fair is it, ay, and no less

fragrant than the cases of aromatics in your shop when you arepounding the cumin : and therein are beds that you would find moregoodly than that of the Doge of Venice, and 'tis in them we take

our rest j and how busily they ply the treadle, and how lustily they

tug at the frame to make the stuff close and compact, I leave you to

imagine. However, among the luckiest of all I reckon Buffalmacco




and myself; for that Buffalmacco for the most part fetches him the

Queen of France, and I do the like with the Queen of England, whoare just the finest women in the world, and we have known how to

carry it with them so that we are the very eyes of their heads. So

I leave it to your own judgment to determine whether we have not

good cause to live and bear ourselves with a lighter heart than others,

seeing that we are beloved of two such great queens, to say nothing

of the thousand or two thousand florins that we have of them when-

ever we are so minded. Now this in the vulgar we call going the

course, because, as the corsairs prey upon all the world, so do wealbeit with this difference, that, whereas they never restore their spoil,

we do so as soon as we have done with it. So now, my worthy

Master, you understand what we mean by going the course ; but

how close it behoves you to keep such a secret, you may see for

yourself ; so I spare you any further exhortations.

The Master, whose skill did not reach, perhaps, beyond the treat-

ment of children for the scurf, took all that Bruno said for gospel,

and burned with so vehement a desire to be admitted into this com-

pany, that he could not have longed for the summum bonum itself

with more ardour. So, after telling Bruno that indeed 'twas no

wonder they bore them lightheartedly, he could scarce refrain from

asking him there and then to have him enrolled, albeit he deemed it

more prudent to defer his suit, until by lavishing honour upon himhe had gained a right to urge it with more confidence. He there-

fore made more and more of him, had him to breakfast and sup with

him, and treated him with extraordinary respect. In short, such and

so constant was their intercourse that it seemed as though the Mister

wist not how to live without Bruno. As it went so well with him,

Bruno, to mark his sense of the honour done him by the doctor,

painted in his saloon a picture symbolical of Lent, and an Agnus

Dei at the entrance of his chamber, and an alembic over his front

door, that those who would fain consult him might know him from

other physicians, besides a battle of rats and mice in his little gallery,

which the doctor thought an extremely fine piece. And from time

to time, when he had not supfcd with the Master, he would say to

him :— Last night I was with the company, and being a little tired

of the Queen of England, I fetched me the Gumedra of the great

Can of Tarisi. Gumedra, quoth the Master j what is she ?




I know not the meaning of these words. Thereat, Master,

reph'ed Bruno, I marvel not ; for I have heard tell that neither

Porcograsso nor Vannacena say aught thereof. Thou wouldstsay

Ippocrasso and Avicenna, returned the Master. I'faith I knownot, quoth Bruno. I as ill know the meaning of your words as

you of mine. But Gumedra in the speech of the great Can signifies

the same as Empress in ours. Ah a fine woman you would find

her, and plenty of her * I warrant she would make you forget your

drugs and prescriptions and plasters. And so, Bruno from time to

time whetting the Master's appetite, and the Master at length think-

ing that by his honourable entreatment of him he had fairly made a

conquest of Bruno, it befell that one evening, while he held the light

for Bruno, who was at work on the battle of rats and mice, he

determined to discover to him his desire; and as they were alone,

thus he spoke :— God knows, Bruno, that there lives not the man,

for whom I would do as much as for thee : why, if thou wast to bid

me go all the way from here to Peretola,^ I almost think I would do

so ; wherefore I trust thou wilt not deem it strange if I talk to thee

as an intimate friend and in confidence. Thou knowest 'tis not long

since thou didst enlarge with me on thy gay company and their

doings, which has engendered in me such a desire as never was to

know more thereof. Nor without reason, as thou wilt discover,

should I ever become a member of the said company, for 1 straight-

way give thee leave to make game of me, should I not then fetch

me the fairest maid thou hast seen this many a day, whom I sawlast year at Cacavincigli, and to whom I am entirely devoted ; and bythe body of Christ I off^ered her ten Bolognese groats, that she should

pleasure me, and she would not. Wherefore I do most earnestly

entreat thee to instruct me what I must do to fit myself for member-ship in the company 3 and never doubt that in me you will have a true

and loyal comrade, and one that will do you honour. And above all

thou seest how goodly I am of my person, and how well furnished

with legs, and of face as fresh as a rose ; and therewithal I am adoctor of medicine, and I scarce think you have any such amongyou ; and not a little excellent lore I have, and many a good song byheart, of which 1 will sing thee one ; and forthwith he fell a

singing.

•^ About four mi es from Florence.




Bruno had such a mind to laugh, that he could scarce contain

himself; but still he kept a grave countenance; and, when the

Master had ended his song, and said : — How likes it thee ? heanswered: — Verily, no lyre of straw could vie with you, so artargii-

tically 1 you refine your strain. I warrant thee, returned the

Master, thou hadst never believed it, hadst thou not heard me.

Ay, indeed, sooth sayst thou, quoth Bruno. And I have other

songs to boot, said the Master ; but enough of this at present. Thoumust know that I, such as thou seest me, am a gentleman's son, albeit

my father lived in the contado ; and on my mother's side I come of

the Vallecchio family. And as thou mayst have observed I have

quite the finest library and wardrobe of all the physicians in Florence.God's faith I have a robe that cost, all told, close upon a hundred

pounds in bagattines ^ more than ten years ago. Wherefore I makemost instant suit to thee that thou get me enrolled, which if thou do,

God's faith be thou never so ill, thou shalt pay me not a stiver for

my tendance of thee. Whereupon Bruno, repeating to himself, as

he had done many a time before, that the doctor was a very num-skull : — Master, quoth he, shew a little more light here, and

have patience until I have put the finishing touches to the tails of

these rats, and then I will answer you. So he finished the tails,

and then, putting on an air as if he were not a little embarrassed by

the request : — Master mine, quoth he, ** I should have great

things to expect from you ; that I know : but yet what you ask of

me, albeit to your great mind it seems but a little thing, is a weighty

matter indeed for me ; nor know I a soul in the world, to whom,though well able, I would grant such a request, save to you alone :

and this I say not for friendship's sake alone, albeit I love you as I

ought, but for that your discourse is so fraught with wisdom, that 'tis

enough to make a beguine start out of her boots, much more, then, to

incline me to change my purpose ; and the more I have of your

company, the wiser I repute you. Whereto I may add, that, if for

no other cause, I should still be well disposed towards you for the

love I see you bear to that fair piece of flesh of which you spoke but

now. But this I must tell you : 'tis not in my power to do as you

1 In the Italian artagoticamente, a word of Boccaccio's own minting.

2 A Venetian coin of extremely low value, being reckoned as ^ of the

Florentine quattrino.

VOL. II. *




would have me in this matter ; but, though I cannot myself do the

needful in your behalf, if you will pledge your faith, whole and solid

as may be, to keep my secret, I will shew you how to go about it

for yourself, and I make no doubt that, having this fine library and

the other matters you spoke of a while ago, you will compass your

end. Ouoth then the Master :— Nay, but speak freely j I see

thou dost yet scarce know me, and how well I can keep a secret.

There were few things that Messer Guasparrviolo da Saliceto did,

when he was Podesta of Forlinpopoli, that he did not confide to me,

so safe he knew they would be in my keeping : and wouldst thou

be satisfied that I say sooth ? I assure you I was the first man whom

he told that he was about to marry Bergamina:

so there's for thee.Well and good, said Bruno, if such as he confided in you, well

indeed may I do the like. Know, then, that you will have to pro-

ceed on this wise: —Our company is governed by a captain and a

council of two, who are changed every six months : and on the

calends without fail Buffalmacco will be captain, and I councillor

:

'tis so fixed ; and the captain has not a little power to promote the

admission and enrolment of whomsoever he will : wherefore, me-

thinks, you would do well to make friends with Buffalmacco and

honourably entreat him : he is one that, marking your great wisdom,

will take a mighty liking to you forthwith ; and when you have just

a little dazzled him with your wisdom and these fine things of yours,

you may make your request to him ; and he will not know how to

say no —I have already talked with him of you, and he is as well

disposed to you as may be —and having so done you will leave the

rest to me. Whereupon : — Thy words are to me for an exceed-

ing great joy, quoth the Master; and if he be one that loves to

converse with sages, he has but to exchange a word or two with

me, and I will answer for it that he will be ever coming to see me ;

for so fraught with wisdom am I, that I could furnish a whole city

therewith, and still remain a great sage.

Having thus set matters in train, Bruno related the whole affair,

point by point, to Buffalmacco, to whom it seemed a thousand years

till he should be able to give Master Noodle that of which he was in

quest. The doctor, now all agog to go the course, lost no time, and

found no difficulty, in making friends with Buffalmacco, and fell to

entertaining him, and Bruno likewise, at breakfast and supper in



wjNTH »TORV.] DECAMERON. 243

most magnificent style ; while they fooled him to the top of his

bent, for, being gentlemen that appreciated excellent wines and fat

capons, besides other good cheer in plenty, they were inclined to be

very neighbourly, and needed no second bidding, but, always letting

him understand that there was none other whose company they

relished so much, kept ever with him.

However, in due time the Master asked of Buffalmacco that

which he had before asked of Bruno. Whereat BufFalmacco feigned

to be not a little agitated, and turning angrily to Bruno, made agreat pother about his ears, saying : — By the Most High God of

Pasignano I vow I can scarce forbear to give thee that over the head

that should make thy nose fall about thy heels, traitor that thou art,

for 'tis thou alone that canst have discovered these secrets to the

Master. Whereupon the Master interposed with no little vigour,

averring with oaths that 'twas from another source that he had gotten

his knowledge ; and Buffalmacco at length allowed himself to be

pacified by the sage's words. So turning to him : — Master, quoth

he,'J 'tis evident indeed that you have been at Bologna, and have

come back hither with a mouth that b labs not, and that 'twas on nopippin, as many a dolt docs, but on the good long pumpkin that you

learned your ABC; and, if I mistake not, you were baptized on a

Sunday ;^ and though Bruno has told me that 'twas medicine you

studied there, 'tis my opinion that you there studied the art of

catching men, of which, what with your wisdom and your startling

revelations, you are the greatest master that ever I knew. Hewould have said more, but the doctor, turning to Bruno, broke in

with: — Ah what it is to consort and converse with the wise

Who but this worthy man would thus have read my mind through

and through ? Less quick by far to rate me at my true worth wait

thou. But what said I when thou toldst me that Bufialmacco

delighted to converse with sages ? Confess now ; have I not kept

my word? Verily, quoth Bruno, you have more than kept

it. Then, addressing Buftalmacco :

— Ah cried the Master,** what hadst thou said, hadst thou seen me at Bologna, where there

was none, great or small, doctor or scholar, but was devoted to mc,

so well wist I how to entertain them with my words of wisdom.

^ I.e. without salt, that Florentine symbol of wit, not being so rcidiiy

procurable on a holiday at on working-days.




Nay more ; let me tell thee that there was never a word I spoke but

set every one a laughing, so great was the pleasure it gave them.

And at my departure they all deplored it most bitterly, and would

have had me remain, and by way of inducement went so far as to

propose that I should be sole lecturer to all the students in medicine

that were there ; which offer I declined, for that I was minded to

return hither, having vast estates here, that have ever belonged to

my family ; which, accordingly, I did. Quoth then Bruno to

Buffalmacco: — How shews it, now, man ? Thou didst not believe

me when I told thee what he was. By the Gospels there is never a

physician in this city that has the lore of ass's urine by heart as he

has : verily, thou wouldst not find his like between here and thegates of Paris. Now see if thou canst help doing as he would have

thee. ** 'Tis even as Bruno says, observed the doctor, but I amnot understood here. You Florentines are somewhat slow of wit.

Would you could see me in my proper element, among a company

of doctors Whereupon : — Of a truth. Master, quoth Buffal-

macco, your lore far exceeds any I should ever have imputed to

you; wherefore, addressing you as 'tis meet to address a man of your

wisdom, I give you disjointedly to understand that without fail I will

procure your enrolment in our company.

After this promise the honours lavished by the doctor upon the

two men grew and multiplied ; in return for which they diverted

themselves by setting him a prancing upon every wildest chimera in

the world ; and promised, among other matters, to give him by wayof mistress, the Countess of Civillari,^ whom they averred to be the

goodliest creature to be found in all the Netherlands of the humanrace ; and the doctor asking who this Countess might be :

— Mature

my gherkin, quoth Buffalmacco, she is indeed a very great lady,

and few houses are there in the world in which she has not somejurisdiction ; nay, the very Friars Minors, to say nought of other

folk, pay her tribute to the sound of the kettle-drum. And I maytell you that, when she goes abroad, she makes her presence very

sensibly felt, albeit for the most part she keeps herself close : how-ever, 'tis no great while since she passed by your door one night on

her way to the Arno to bathe her feet and get a breath of air ; but

^ A public sink at Florence.



NINTH STORv.] DECAMERON. 245

most of her time she abides at Laterina.* Serjeants has she not a

few that go their rounds at short intervals, bearing, one and all, the

rod and the bucket in token of her sovereignty, and barons in plenty

in all parts, as Tamagnino della Porta,* Don Meta,' Manico di Scopa,*

Squacchera,' and others, with whom I doubt not you arc intimately

acquainted, though you may not just now bear them in mind. Such,

then, is the great lady, in whose soft arms we, if we delude not our-

selves, will certainly place you, in which case you may well dispense

with her of Cacavtncigli.**

The doctor, who had been born and bred at Bologna, and under-

stood not their words, found the lady quite to his mind ; and shortly

afterwards the painters brought him tidings of his election into thecompany. Then came the day of the nocturnal gathering, and the

doctor had the two men to breakfist ; and when they had break-

fasted, he asked them after what manner he was to join the company.

Whereupon : — Lo, now. Master, quoth BufFalmacco, you have

need of a stout heart ; otherwise you may meet with some let, to

our most grievous hurt j and for what cause you have need of this

stout heart, you shall hear. You must contrive to be to-night about

the hour of first sleep on one of the raised tombs that have been

lately placed outside of Santa Maria Novella ; and mind that you

wear one of your bestgowns,

that your first appearancemay

impress

the company with a proper sense of your dignity, and also because,

as we are informed, for we were not present at the time, the

Countess, by reason that you are a gentleman, is minded to make you

a Knight of the Bath at her own charges. So you will wait there,

until one, whom we shall send, come for you : who, that you mayknow exactly what you have to expect, will be a beast black and

horned, of no great size ; and he will go snorting and bounding

amain about the piazza in front of you, with intent to terrify you

but, when he perceives that you are not afraid, he will draw nigh you

quietly, and when he is close by you, then get you down from the

1 In the contado of' Arezzo : the equivoque is tolerably obTious.

2 Slang for an ill-kept jakes.

B Also slang : signifying a pyramidal pile of ordure.

* Broom-handle.

' The meaning of this term may perhaps be divined from the sound.



246 DECAMERON. [biohth day.

tomb, fearing nothing ; and, minding you neither of God nor of the

saints, mount him, and when you are well set on his back, then fold

your arms upon your breast, as in submission, and touch him no

more. Then, going gently, he will bear you to us ; but once mind

you of God, or the saints, or give way to fear, and I warn you, he

might give you a fall, or dash you against something that you would

find scarce pleasant ; wherefore, if your heart misgives you, you were

best not to come, for you would assuredly do yourself a mischief, and

us no good at all. Quoth then the doctor :— You know me not

as yet j 'tis perchance because I wear the gloves and the long robe

that you misdoubt me. Ah did you but know what feats I have

done in times past at Bologna, when I used to go after the womenwith my comrades, you would be lost in amazement. God's faith

on one of those nights there was one of them, a poor sickly creature

she was too, and stood not a cubit in height, who would not comewith us ; so first I treated her to many a good cufF, and then I took

her up by main force, and carried her well-nigh as far as a cross-bow

will send a bolt, and so caused her, willy-nilly, come with us. Andon another occasion I mind me that, having none other with me but

my servant, a little after the hour of Ave Maria, I passed beside the

cemetery of the Friars Minors, and, though that very day a woman

had been there interred, I had nofear at all. So

onthis score you

may make your minds easy j for indeed I am a man of exceeding

great courage and prowess. And to appear before you with due

dignity, I will don my scarlet gown, in which I took my doctor's

degree, and it remains to be seen if the company will not give me a

hearty welcome, and make me captain out of hand. Let me once

be there, and you will see how things will go ; else how is it that

this countess, that has not yet seen me, is already so enamoured of

me that she is minded to make me a Knight of the Bath ? Andwhether I shall find knighthood agreeable, or know how to support

the dignity well or ill, leave that to me. Whereupon :— Well

said, excellent well said, quoth Buffalmacco : but look to it you

disappoint us not, either by not coming or by not being found, whenwe send for you ; and this I say, because 'tis cold weather, and you

medical gentlemen take great care of your health. God forbid,

replied the doctor, I am none of your chilly folk ; I fear not the

cold : 'tis seldom indeed, when I leave my bed a nights, to answer




the call of nature, as one must at times, that I do more than throw

a pelisse over my doublet ; so rest assured that I shall be there.

So they parted ; and towards nightfall the Master found a pretext

for leaving his wife, and privily got out his fine gown, which in due

time he donned, and so hied him to the tombs, and having perched

himself on one of them, huddled himself together, for 'twas mighty

cold, to await the coming of tl^ beast. Meanwhile BufFalmacco,

who was a tall man and strong, provided himself with one of those

dominos that were wont to be worn in certain revels which are nowgone out of fashion ; and enveloped in a black pelisse turned inside

out, shewed like a bear, save t)iat the domino had the face of a devil,

and was furnished withhorns : in which guise,

Brunofollowing

close behind to see the sport, he hied him to the piazza of Santa

Maria Novella. And no sooner wist he that the Master was on

the tomb, than he fell a careering in a most wild and furious manner

to and fro the piazza, and snorting and bellowing and gibbering like

one demented, insomuch that, as soon as the Master was ware of him,

each several hair on his head stood on end, and he fell a trembling

in every limb, being in sooth more timid than a woman, and wished

himself safe at home : but as there he was, he strove might and

main to keep his spirits up, so overmastering was his desire to see the

marvels of which Bruno and Buffalmacco had told him. However,

after a while Buffalmacco allowed his fury to abate, and came quietly

up to the tomb on which the Master was, and stood still. TheMaster, still all of a tremble with fear, could not at first make up his

mind, whether to get on the beast's back, or no j but at length,

doubting it might be the worse for him if he did not mount the

beast, he overcame the one dread by the aid of the other, got downfrom the tomb, saying under his breath : —** God help me and

seated himself very comfortably on the beast's back ; and then, still

quaking in every limb, he folded his arms as he had been bidden.

BufFalmacco now started, going on all-fours, at a very slow pace,

in the direction of Santa Maria della Scala, and so brought the

Master within a short distance of the Convent of the Ladies of Ripoh'.

Now, in that quarter there were divers trenches, into which the

husbandmen of those parts were wont to discharge the Countess of

Civillari, that she might afterwards serve them to manure their land.

Of one of which trenches, as he came by, Buffalmacco skirted the




edge, and seizing his opportunity, raised a hand, and caught the

doctor by one of his feet, and threw him off his back and head-

foremost right into the trench, and then, making a terrific noise and .

frantic gestures as before, went bounding off by Santa Maria della

Scala towards the field of Ognissanti, where he found Bruno, whohad betaken him thither that he might laugh at his ease j and there

the two men in high glee took thek stand to observe from a distance

how the bemired doctor would behave. Finding himself in so loath-

some a place, the Master struggled might and main to raise himself

and get out ; and though again and again he slipped back, and

swallowed some drams of the ordure, yet, bemired from head to foot,

woebegone and crestfallen, he did at last get out, leaving his hoodbehind him. Then, removing as much of the filth as he might with

his hands, knowing not what else to do, he got him home, where,

by dint of much knocking, he at last gained admittance ; and scarce

was the door closed behind the malodorous Master, when Bruno and

BufFalmacco were at it, all agog to hear after what manner he would

be received by his wife. They were rewarded by hearing her give

him the soundest rating that ever bad husband got. Ah quoth

she, fine doings, these Thou hast been with some other woman,and wast minded to make a brave shew in thy scarlet gown. So I

was not enough for thee not enough for thee forsooth, I that might

content a crowd Would they had choked thee with the filth in

which they have soused thee j 'twas thy fit resting-place. Now, to

think that a physician of repute, and a married man, should go by

night after strange women Thus, and with much more to the

like effect, while the doctor was busy washing himself, she ceased

not to torment him until midnight.

On the morrow, Bruno and BufFalmacco, having painted their

bodies all over with livid patches to give them the appearance of

having been thrashed, came to the doctor's house, and finding that

he was already risen, went in, being saluted on all hands by a foul

smell, for time had not yet served thoroughly to cleanse the house.

The doctor, being informed that they were come to see him,

advanced to meet them, and bade them good morning. WheretoBruno and BufFalmacco, having prepared their answer, replied :

No good morning shall you have from us : rather we pray God to

give you bad years enough to make an end of you, seeing that there




lives no more arrant and faithless traitor. 'Tis no fault of yours, if

we, that did our best to honour and pleasure you, have not come by

a dog's death ; your faithlessness has cost us to-night as many sound

blows as would more than suffice to keep an ass a trotting all the

way from here to Rome ; besides which, we have been in peril of

expulsion from the company in which we arranged for your enrol-

ment. If you doubt our words, look but at our bodies, what a state

they are in. And so, baring their breasts they gave him a glimpse

of the patches they had painted there, and forthwith covered themup again. The doctor would have made them his excuses, and

recounted his misfortunes, and how he had been thrown into the

trench. But BufFalmacco broke in with :

— Would he had thrownyou from the bridge into the Arno Why must you needs mindyou of God and the saints ? Did we not forewarn you ? God's

faith, returned the doctor, that did I not. How ? quoth

BufFalmacco, you did not ? You do so above a little ; for he that

we sent for you told us that you trembled like an aspen, and knew not

where you were. You have played us a sorry trick ; but never

another shall do so ; and as for you, we will give you such requital

thereof as you deserve. The doctor now began to crave their

pardon, and to implore them for God's sake not to expose him to

shame, and used all the eloquence at his command to make his peace

with them. And if he had honourably entreated them before, he

thenceforth, for fear they should publish his disgrace, did so muchmore abundantly, and courted them both by entertaining them at his

table and in other ways. And so you have heard how wisdom is

imparted to those that get it not at Bologna.



NOVEL X.

A Sicilian woman cunningly conveys from a merchant that

which he has brought to Palermo ; he, making a shew

of being come back thither with far greater store of

goods than before^ borrows money of her, and leaves

her in lieu thereof water and tow.

How much in divers passages the queen's story moved the ladies

to laughter, it boots not to ask : none vi^as there in whose eyes the

tears stood not full a dozen times for excess of merriment. Hov?^-

ever, it being ended, and Dioneo witting that 'twas now his turn,

thus spake he : —Gracious ladies, 'tis patent to all that wiles are

diverting in the degree of the wiliness of him that is by them

beguiled. Wherefore, albeit stories most goodly have been told by

you all, I purpose to relate one which should afFord you more

pleasure than any that has been told, seeing that she that was

beguiled was far more cunning in beguiling others than any of the

beguiled of whom you have spoken.

There was, and perhaps still is, a custom in all maritime

countries that have ports, that all merchants arriving there with

merchandise, should, on discharging, bring all their goods into a

warehouse, called in many places dogana, and maintained by

the state, or the lord of the land j where those that are assigned

to that office allot to each merchant, on receipt of an invoice of

all his goods and the value thereof, a room in which he stores

his goods under lock and key ; whereupon the said officers of the

dogana enter all the merchant's goods to his credit in the book

of the dogana, and afterwards make him pay duty thereon, or on

such part as he withdraws from the warehouse, ^y which book of

250



TiNTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 251

the dogana the broken not »eIdom find out the sorts and quantities

of the merchandise that is there, and also who are the ownersthereof, with whom, as occasion serves, they afterwards treat of

exchanges, barters, sales and other modes of disposing of the goods.

Which custom obtained, as in many other places, so also at Palermo

in Sicily, where in like manner there were and are not a few women,fair as fair can be, but foes to virtue, who by whoso knows them not

would be reputed great and most virtuous ladies. And being given

not merely to fleece but utterly to flay men, they no sooner espy a

foreign merchant in the city, than they find out from the book of

the dogana how much he has there and what he is good for ; and

then by caressing and amorous looks and gestures, and words ofhoneyed sweetness, they strive to entice and allure the merchant to

their love, and not seldom have they succeeded, and wrested from

him great part or the whole of his merchandise ; and of some they

have gotten goods and ship and flesh and bones, so delightsomely

have they known how to ply the shears.

Now 'tis not long since one of our young Florentines, Niccolo da

Cignano by name, albeit he was called Salabaetto, arrived there,

being sent by his masters with all the woollen stuffs that he had not

been able to dispose of at Salerno fair, which might perhaps be

worth five hundred florins of gold ; and having given the invoice to

the officers of the dogana and stored the goods, Salabaetto was in no

hurry to get them out of bond, but took a stroll or two about the

city for his diversion. And as he was fresh-complexioned and fair

and not a little debonair, it so befell that one of these ladies that

plied the shears, and called herself Jancofiore, began to ogle him.

Whereof he taking note, and deeming that she was a great lady,

supposed that she was taken by his good looks, and cast about howhe might manage this amour with all due discretion ; wherefore,

saying nought to a soul, he began to pass to and fro before her house.

Which she observing, occupied herself for a few days in inflaming

his passion, and then affecting to be dying of love for him, sent

privily to him a woman that she had in her service, and who was an

adept in the arts of the procuress. She, after not a little palaver,

told him, while the tears all but stood in her eyes, that for his hand-

some person and winsome air her mistress was so enamoured of him,

that she found no peace by day or by night ; and therefore, if 'twere




agreeable to him, there was nought she desired so mucli as to meet

him privily at a bagnio : whereupon she drew a ring from her purse,

and gave it him by way of token from her mistress. Overjoyed as

ne'er another to hear such good news, Salabaetto took the ring, and,

after drawing it across his eyes and kissing it, put it on his finger,

and told the good woman that, if Madonna Jancofiore loved him,

she was well requited, for that he loved her more dearly than himself,

and that he was ready to meet her wherever and whenever she might

see fit. With which answer the procuress hied her back to her

mistress, and shortly afterwards Salabaetto was informed that he was

to meet the lady at a certain bagnio at vespers of the ensuing day.

So, saying nought to a soul of the matter, he hied him punctuallyat the appointed hour to the bagnio, and found that it had been taken

by the lady ; nor had he long to wait before two female slaves madetheir appearance, bearing on their heads, the one a great and goodly

mattress of wadding, and the other a huge and well-filled basket ; and

having laid the mattress on a bedstead in one of the rooms of the bagnio,

they covered it with a pair of sheets of the finest fabric, bordered with

silk, and a quilt of the whitest Cyprus buckram, with two daintily-

embroidered pillows. The slaves then undressed and got into the

bath, which they thoroughly washed and scrubbed : whither soon

afterwards the lady, attended by other two female slaves, came,

and made haste to greet Salabaetto with the heartiest of cheer ; and

when, after heaving many a mighty sigh, she had embraced and

kissed him : — I know not, quoth she, who but thou could have

brought me to this, such a fire hast thou kindled in my soul, little

dog of a Tuscan Whereupon she was pleased that they should

undress, and get into the bath, and two of the slaves with them j

which, accordingly, they did ; and she herself, suffering none other to

lay a hand upon him, did with wondrous care wash Salabaetto from

head to foot with soap perfumed with musk and cloves ; after which

she let the slaves wash and shampoo herself. The slaves then

brought two spotless sheets of finest texture, which emitted such a

scent of roses, that 'twas as if there was nought there but roses, in

one of which having wrapped Salabaetto, and in the other the lady,

they bore them both to bed, where, the sheets in which they were

enfolded being withdrawn by the slaves as soon as they had done

sweating, they remained stark naked in the others. The slaves then




took from the basket cruets of silver most goodly, and full, this of

rose-water, that of water of orange-blossom, a third of water ofjasmine-blossom, and a fourth of nanfa * water, wherewith they

sprinkled them : after which, boxes of comfits and the finest wines

being brought forth, they regaled them a while. To Salabaetto 'twas

as if he were in Paradise ; a thousand times he scanned the lady,

who was indeed most beautiful ; and he counted each hour as

a hundred years luitil the slaves should get them gone, and he find

himself in the lady's arms.

At length, by the lady's command, the slaves departed, leaving a

lighted torch in the room, and then the lady and Salabaetto embraced,

and to Salabaetto's prodigious delight, for it seemed to him that she

.

was all but dissolved for love of him, tarried there a good while.

However, the time came when the lady must needs rise : so she

called the slaves, with whose help they dressed, regaled them again

for a while with wine and comfits, and washed their faces and hands

with the odoriferous waters. Then as they were going, quoth the

lady to Salabaetto :—*' If it be agreeable to thee, I should deem it a

very great favour if thou wouldst come to-night to sup and sleep

with me. Salabaetto, who, captivated by her beauty and her

studied graciousness, never doubted but he was dear to her as her

very heart, made answer :— Madam, there is nought you can

desire but is in the last degree agreeable to me ; wherefore to-night

and ever 'tis my purpose to do whatsoever you may be pleased to

command. So home the lady hied her, and having caused a brave

shew to be made in her chamber with her dresses and other para-

phernalia, and a grand supper to be prepared, awaited Salabaetto j

who, being come there as soon as 'twas dark, had of her a gladsome

welcome, and was regaled with an excellent and well-served supper.

After which, they repaired to the chamber, where he was saluted by

a wondrous sweet odour of aloe-wood, and observed that the bed

was profusely furnished with birds,* after the fashion of Cyprus, and

that not a few fine dresses were hanging upon the pegs. Whichcircumstances did, one and all, beget in him the belief that this must

1 Neither the Vocah. degli Accad. delta Crusca nor the Rlcchnze attempu

to define the precise nature of this scent, which Fanfani identifies with that

of the orange-blossom.

' /. e, with a sort of musical boxes in the shape of birds.




be a great and wealthy lady ; and, though he had heard a hint or

two to the contrary touching her life, he would by no means creditthem ; nor, supposing that she had perchance taken another with

guile, would he believe that the same thing might befall him. So to

his exceeding great solace, he lay with her that night, and ever grew

more afire for her. On the morrow, as she was investing him with

a fair and dainty girdle of silver, with a goodly purse attached :

Sweet my Salabaetto,'^ quoth she, prithee forget me not ; even

as my person, so is all that I have at thy pleasure, and all that

I can at thy command.Salabaetto then embraced and kissed her, and so bade her adieu,

and betook him to the place where the merchants were wont to con-

gregate. And so it befell that he, continuing to consort with her

from time to time, and being never a denier the poorer thereby,

disposed of his merchandise for ready money and at no small profit j

whereof not by him but by another the lady was forthwith advised.

And Salabaetto being come to see her one evening, she greeted himgaily and gamesomely, and fell a kissing and hugging him, and madeas if she were so afire for love of him that she was like to die thereof

in his arms ; and offered to give him two most goodly silver cups

that she had, which Salabaetto would not accept, having already had

from her (taking one time with another) fully thirty florins of gold,

while he had not been able to induce her to touch so much as a groat

of his money. But when by this shew of passion and generosity

she had thoroughly kindled his flame, in came, as she had arranged,

one of her slaves, and spoke to her ; whereupon out of the room she

went, and after a while came back in tears, and threw herself prone

on the bed, and set up the most dolorous lamentation that ever

woman made. Whereat Salabaetto wondering, took her in his arms,

and mingled his tears with hers, and said : — Alas 1 heart of mybody what ails thee thus of a sudden ? Wherefore art thou so

distressed ? Ah tell me the reason, my soul. The lady allowed

him to run on in this strain for a good while, and then; —

Alas

sweet my lord, quoth she, *' I know not either what to do or whatto say. I have but now received a letter from Messina, in which mybrother bids me sell, if need be, all that I have here, and send himwithout fail within eight days a thousand florins of gold : otherwise

he will forfeit his head. I know not how to come by them so soon :




had I but fifteen days, I would make a shift to raise them in a quarter

where I might raise a much larger sum, or I would sell one of ourestates ; but, as this may not be, would I had been dead or e'er this

bad news had reached me Which said, affecting to be utterly

broken-hearted, she ceased not to weep.

Salabaetto, the ardour of whose passton had in great measure

deprived him of the sagacity which the circumstances demanded,

supposed that the tears were genuine enough, and the words even

more so. Wherefore: — Madam, quoth he, I Qould not furnish

you with a thousand, but if live hundred florins of gold would suffice,

they are at ydur service, if you think you could repay them within

fifteen days ; and you may deem yourself in luck's way, for 'twas

only yesterday that I sold my woollens, which had I not done, I

could not have lent you a groat. Alas I** returned the lady^

then thou hast been in straits for money ? Oh why didst thou

not apply to me ? Though I have not a thousand at my command,

I could have given thee quite a hundred, nay indeed two hundred

florins. By what thou hast said thou hast made me hesitate to accept

the service that thou proposest to render me. Which words fairly

delivered Salabaetto into the lady's hands, insomuch that : — Madam,quoth he, I would not have you decline my help for such a scruple ;

for had my need been as great as yours, I should certainly have

applied to you. Quoth then the lady : — Ah 1 Salabaetto mine,

well I wot that the love thou bearest me is a true and perfect love,

seeing that, without waiting to be asked, thou dost so handsomely

come to my aid with so large a sum of money. And albeit I was

thine without this token of thy love, yet , assuredly, it has made methine in an even greater degree ; nor shall I ever forget that 'tis to

thee I owe my brother's life. But God knows I take thy moneyfrom thee reluctantly, seeing that thou art a merchant, and 'tis by

means of money that merchants conduct all their affairs ; but, as

necessity constrains me, and I have good hope of speedily repaying

thee, I will even take it, and by way of security, if 1 should find noreadier method, I will pawn all that I have here. Which said, she

burst into tears, and fell upon Salabaetto, pressing her cheek upon

his.

Salabaetto tried to comfort her ; and having spent the night with

her, on the morrow, being minded to shew himself her most devoted




servant, brought her, without awaiting any reminder, five hundred

fine florins of gold : which she, laughing at heart while the tears

streamed from her eyes, took, Salabaetto trusting her mere promise

of repayment. Now that the lady had gotten the money, the

complexion of affairs began to alter ; and whereas Salabaetto had

been wont to have free access to her, whenever he was so minded,

now for one reason or another he was denied admittance six times

out of seven ; nor did she greet him with the same smile, or shower

on him the same caresses, or do him the same cheer as of yore. So

a month, two months, passed beyond the time when he was to have

been repaid his money ; and when he demanded it, he was put off

with words. Whereby Salabaetto, being now ware of the cheat

which his slender wit had suffered the evil-disposed woman to put

upon him, and also that, having neither writing nor witness against

her, he was entirely at her mercy in regard of his claim, and being,

moreover, ashamed to lodge any complaint with any one, as well

because he had been forewarned of her character, as because he

dreaded the ridicule to which his folly justly exposed him, was

chagrined beyond measure, and inly bewailed his simplicity. Andhis masters having written to him, bidding him change the moneyand remit it to them, he, being apprehensive that, making default as

he must, he should, if he remained there, be detected, resolved to

depart ; and having taken ship, he repaired, not, as he should have

done, to Pisa, but to Naples ; where at that time resided our gossip,

Pietro dello Canigiano, treasurer of the Empress of Constantinople,

a man of great sagacity and acuteness, and a very great friend of

Salabaetto and his kinsfolk ; to whom trusting in his great discretion,

Salabaetto after a while discovered his distress, telling him what he

had done, and the sorry plight in which by consequence he stood,

and craving his aid and counsel, that he might the more readily find

means of livelihood there, for that he was minded never to go back

to Florence. Impatient to hear of such folly :— 'Twas ill done of

thee, quoth Canigiano, thou hast misbehaved thyself, wronged thymasters, and squandered an exorbitant sum in lewdness ; however,

'tis done, and we must consider of the remedy. And indeed, like

the shrewd man that he was, he had already bethought him what

was best to be done j and forthwith he imparted it to Salabaetto.

Which expedient Salabaetto approving, resolved to make the adven-



TENTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 257•

ture ; and having still a little money, and being furnished with a loan

by Canigiano, he provided himself with not a few bales well andclosely corded, and bought some twenty oil-casks, which he filled,

and having put all on shipboard, returned to Palermo. There he

gave the invoice of the bales, as also of the oil-casks, to the officers of

the dogana, and having them all entered to his credi t, laid them up

in the store-rooms, saying that he purposed to leave them there until

the arrival of other merchandise that he expected.

Which Jancofiore learning, and being informed that the merchan-

dise, that he had brought with him, was worth fully two thousand

florins of gold, or even more, besides that which he expected, which

was valued at more than three thousand florins of gold, bethought her

that she had not aimed high enough, and that *twere well to refund

him the five hundred, if so she might make the greater part of the

five thousand florins her own. Wherefore she sent for him, and

Salabaetto, having learned his lesson of cunning, waited on her.

Feigning to know nought of the cargo he had brought with him, she

received him with marvellous cheer, and began :— Lo, now, if thou

wast angry with me because I did not repay thee thy money in due

time : but Salabaetto interrupted her, saying with a laugh :

Madam, 'tis true I was a little vexed, seeing that I would have

plucked out my heart to pleasure you ; but listen, and you shall learn

the quality of my displeasure. Such and so great is the love I bear

you, that I have sold the best part of all that I possess, whereby I

have already in this port merchandise to the value of more than two

thousand florins, and expect from the Levant other goods to the

value of above three thousand florins, and mean to set up a warehouse

in this city, and live here, to be ever near you, for that I deem myself

more blessed in your love than any other lover that lives. Where-

upon :— Harkye, Salabaetto, quoth the lady, whatever advan-

tages thee is mighty grateful to me, seeing that I love thee more

than my very life, and right glad am I that thou art come back with

intent to stay, for I hope to have many a good time with thee j butsomething I must say to thee by way of excuse, for that, whilst thou

wast thinking of taking thy departure, there were times when thou

wast disappointed of seeing me, and others when thou hadst not as

gladsome a welcome as thou wast wont to have, and therewithal I

kept not the time promised for the repayment of thy money. ThouVOL. II. *



TENTH STORY.] DECAMERON. *259

help me at this juncture, and so what to do or what to say I know

not ; but this I know that, if I send not the money without delay,

my merchandise will be taken to Monaco, and I shall never touch

aught of it again. Whereat the lady was mightily annoyed, being

apprehensive of losing all, and bethought her how she might prevent

the goods going to Monaco : wherefore :— God knows, quoth

she, that for the love I bear thee I am not a little sorry for thee :

but what boots it idly to distress oneself? Had I the money, Godknows I would lend it thee forthwith, but I have it not. One,

indeed, there is that accommodated me a day or two ago with five

hundred florins that I stood in need of, but he requires a heavy

usance, not less than thirty on the hundred, and if thou shouldsthave recourse to him, good security must be forthcoming. Now for

my part I am ready, so I may serve thee, to pledge all these dresses,

and my person to boot, for as much as he will lend thee thereon ; but

how wilt thou secure the balance ?

Salabaetto divined the motive that prompted her thus to accommo-date him, and that she was to lend the money herself; which suiting

his purpose well, he first of all thanked her, and then said that, being

constrained by necessity, he would not stand out against exorbitant

terms, adding that, as to the balance, he would secure it upon the

merchandise that he had at the dogana by causing it to be entered in

the name of the lender j but that he must keep the key of the store-

rooms, as well that he might be able to shew the goods, if requested,

as to make sure that none of them should be tampered with or

changed or exchanged. The lady said that this was reasonable, and

that 'twas excellent security. So, betimes on the morrow, the lady

sent for a broker, in whom she reposed much trust, and having talked

the matter over with him, gave him a thousand florins of gold, which

the broker took to Salabaetto, and thereupon had all that Salabaetto

had at the dogana entered in his name ; they then had the script and

counterscript made out, and, the arrangement thus concluded, went

about their respective affairs. Salabaetto lost no time in getting

aboard a bark with his five hundred florins of gold, and being cometo Naples, sent thence a remittance which fiilly discharged his obliga-

tion to his masters that had entrusted him with the stufis : he also

paid all that he owed to Pietro dello Canigiano and all his other

creditors, and made not a little merry with Canigiano over the trick



26o ' DECAMERON. [eighth day.

he had played the Sicilian lady. He then departed from Naples, and

being minded to have done with mercantile affairs, betook him to

Ferrara.

Janeofiore, surprised at first by Salabaetto's disappearance from

Palermo, waxed after a while suspicious j and, when she had waited

fiilly two months, seeing that he did not return, she caused the broker

to break open the store-rooms. And trying first of all the casks, she

found them full of sea-water, save that in each there was perhaps a

hog's-head of oil floating on the surface. Then undoing the bales,

she found them all, save two that contained stuffs, full of tow, and

in short their whole contents put together were not worth more than

two hundredflorins. Wherefore Janeofiore, knowing herself to

have been outdone, regretted long and bitterly the five hundred

florins of gold that she had refunded, and still more the thousand that

she had lent, repeating many a time to herself: —Who with a Tuscan

has to do, Had need of eyesight quick and true. Thus, left with the

loss and the laugh against her, she discovered that there were others

as knowing as she.

No sooner was Dioneo's story ended, than Lauretta, witting

that therewith the end of her sovereignty was come, bestowed her

meed of praise on Pietro Canigiano for his good counsel, and also on

Salabaetto for the equal sagacity which he displayed in carrying it

out, and then, taking off the laurel wreath, set it on the head of

Emilia, saying graciously: —''I know not. Madam, how debonair

a queen you may prove, but at least we shall have in you a fair

one. Be it your care, then, that you exercise your authority in a

manner answerable to your charms. Which said, she resumed

her seat.

Not so much to receive the crown, as to be thus commended to

her face and before the company for that which ladies are wont to

covet the most, Emilia was a little shamefast ; a tint like that of the

newly-blown rose overspread her face, and a while she stood silent

with downcast eyes : then, as the blush faded away, she raised them ;

and having given her seneschal her commands touching all matters

pertaining to the company, thus she spake :— Sweet my ladies, 'tis

matter of common experience that, when the oxen have swunken a

part of the day under the coercive yoke, they are relieved thereof and

loosed, and suffered to go seek their pasture at their own sweet will



TEhfTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 261

in the woods ; nor can we fail to observe that gardens luxuriant with

diversity of leafage are not less, but far more fair to see, than woodswherein is nought but oaks. Wherefore I deem that, as for so manydays our discourse has been confined within the bounds of certain

laws, 'twill be not only meet but profitable for us, being in need of

relaxation, to roam a while, and so recruit our strength to undergo

the yoke once more. And therefore I am minded that to-morrow

the sweet tenor of your discourse be not confined to any particular

theme, but that you be at liberty to discourse on such wise as to each

may seem best ; for well assured am I that thus to speak of divers

matters will be no less pleasurable than to limit ourselves to one topic;

and by reason of this enlargement my successor in the sovereigntywill find you more vigorous, and be therefore all the more forward

to reimpose upon you the wonted restraint of our laws. Having so

said, she dismissed all the company until supper-time.

All approved the wisdom of what the queen had said j and being

risen betook them to their several diversions, the ladies to weave

garlands and otherwise disport them, the young men to play and sing

and so they whiled away the hours until supper-time ; which being

come, they gathered about the fair fountain, and took their meal with

gay and festal cheer. Supper ended, they addressed them to their

wonted pastime of song and dance. At the close of which the queen,

notwithstanding the songs which divers of the company had already

gladly accorded them, called for another from Pamfilo, who without

the least demur thus sang :

So great, O Love, the bliss

Through thee I prove, so jocund my estate,

That in thy flame to burn I bless my fate

Such plenitude of joy my heart doth know

Of that high joy and rare.

Wherewith thou hast me blest.

As, bounds disdaining, still doth overflow,

And by my radiant air

My blitheness manifest;

For by thee thus possessed

With love, where meeter 'twere to venerate,

I still consume within thy flame elate.




Well wot I, Love, no song may e'er reveal,

Nor any sign declare

What in my heart is pent

Nay, might they so, that were I best conceal,

Whereof were others ware,

'Twould serve but to torment

Me, whose is such content,

That weak were words and all inadequate

A tittle of my bliss to adumbrate.

Who would have dreamed that e'er in mine embrace

Her I should clip and fold

Whom there I still do feel,

Or as 'gainst her face e'er to lay my face

Attain such grace untold.

And unimagined weal ?

Wherefore my bliss I seal

Of mine own heart within the circuit strait.

And still in thy sweet flame luxuriate.

So ended Pamfilo his song : whereto all the company responded

in full chorus ; nor was there any but gave to its words an inordinate

degree of attention, endeavouring by conjecture to penetrate that

which he intimated that 'twas meet he should keep secret. Diverswere the interpretations hazarded, but all were wide of the mark.

At length, however, the queen, seeing that ladies and men alike were

fain of rest, bade all betake them to bed.



/

Undeth here the eighth day of the Decameron^ beginneth

the ninths in which, under the rule of Emilia, discourse

is had, at the discretion of each, of such matters as

most commend themselves to each in turn.

The luminary, before whose splendour the night takes wing, had

already changed the eighth heaven * from azure to the lighter blue,*

and in the meads the flowerets were beginning to lift their heads,

when Emilia, being risen, roused her fair gossips, and, likewise, the

young men. And so the queen leading the way at an easy pace, and

the rest of the company following, they hied them to a copse at no

great distance from the palace. Where, being entered, they saw the

goats and stags and other wild creatures, as if witting that in this

time of pestilence they had nought to fear from the hunter, stand

awaiting them with no more sign of fear than if they had been

tamed : and so, making now towards this, now towards the other of

them as if to touch them, they diverted themielves for a while by

making them skip and run. But, as soon as the sun was in the

ascendant, by common consent they turned back, and whoso met

them, garlanded as they were with oak-leaves, and carrying store of

fragrant herbs or flowers in their hands might well have said :

Either shall death not vanquish these, or they will meet it with a

light heart. So, slowly wended they their way, now singing, nowbandying quips and merry jests, to the palace, where they found all

things in order meet, and their servants in blithe and merry cheer.

A while they rested, nor went they to table until six ditties, each

gayer than that which went before, had been sung by the young

' I.e.'m the Ptolemaic system, the region of the fixed stars.

2 Cilettro.: a word for which we have no exact equivalent, the dominant

note of the Italian sky, when the sun is well up, being its intense luminoiity.

163



264 DECAME-RON. [ninth day.

men and the ladies ; which done, they washed their hands, and all by

the queen's command were ranged by the seneschal at the table i

and, the viands being served, they cheerily took their meal : where-

from being risen, they trod some measures to the accompaniment

of music ; and then, by the queen's command, whoso would betook

him to rest. However, the accustomed hour being come, they all

gathered at the wonted spot for their discoursing, and the queen,

bending her regard upon Filomena, bade her make a beginning of

the day's story-telling, which she with a smile did on this wise ;



NOVEL I.

Madonna Francesca, having two lovers^ the one Rinuccw,

the other Aiessandro, by name^ and loving neither ofthem^ induces the one to simulate a corpse in a tomb^

and the other to enter the tomb to fetch him out :

whereby, neither satisfying her demands, slie artfully

rids herself of both.

Madam, since so it pleases you, well pleased am I that in this

vast, this boundless field of discourse, which you, our Lady Bountiful,

have furnished us withal, 'tis mine to run the first course ; wherein

if I do well, I doubt not that those, who shall follow me, will do

notonly well

butbetter. Such, sweet

myladies,

has been the tenorof our discourse, that times not a few the might of Love, how great

and singular it is, has been set forth : but yet I doubt the topic is not

exhausted, nor would it be so, though we should continue to speak

of nought else for the space of a full year. And as Love not only

leads lovers to debate with themselves whether they were not best to

die, but also draws them into the houses of the dead in quest of the

dead, I am minded in this regard to tell you a story, wherein you

will not only discern the power of Love, but will also learn how the

ready wit of a worthy lady enabled her to disembarrass herself of two

lovers, whose love was displeasing to her.

Know, then, that there dwelt aforetime in the city of Pistoia a

most beauteous widow lady, of whom it so befell that two of our

citizens, the one Rinuccio Palermini, the other Alessandro Chiar-

montesi, by name, tarrying at Pistoia, for that they were banished

from Plorence, became, neither witting how it stood with the other,

in the kst degree enamoured. Wherefore each used all his arts

*6s



266 DECAMERON. [ninth day.

to win the love of Madonna Francesca de' Lazzari —such was the

lady's name —and she, being thus continually plied with ambassages

and entreaties on the part of both, and having indiscreetly lent ear

to them from time to time, found it no easy matter discreetly to

extricate herself, when she was minded to be rid of their pestering,

until it occurred to her to adopt the following expedient, to wit,

to require of each a service, such as, though not impracticable,

she deemed none would actually perform, to the end that, they

making default, she might have a decent and colourable pretext

for refusing any longer to receive their ambassages. Which expe-

dient was on this wise. One day there died in Pistoia, and was

buried in a tomb outside the church of the Friars Minors, a man,who, though his forbears had been gentlefolk, was reputed the very

worst man, not in Pistoia only, but in all the world, and there-

withal he was of form and feature so preternaturally hideous that

whoso knew him not could scarce see him for the first time without

a shudder. Now, the lady pondering her design on the day of this

man's death, it occurred to her that he might in a measure subserve

its accomplishment : wherefore she said to her maid : — Thouknowest to what worry and annoyance I am daily put by the

ambassages of these two Florentines, Rinuccio and Alessandro.

Now I am not disposed to gratify either of them with my love, and

therefore, to shake them off, I am minded, as they make such great

protestations, to put them to the proof by requiring of each some-

thing which I am sure he will not perform, and thus to rid myself

of their pestering : so list what I mean to do. Thou knowest that

this morning there was interred in the ground of the Friars Minors

this Scannadio (such was the name of the bad man of whom wespoke but now) whose aspect, while he yet lived, appalled even the

bravest among us. Thou wilt therefore go privily to Alessandro,

and say to him :—

' Madonna Francesca sends thee word by me that

the time is now come when thou mayst win that which thou hast

so much desired, to wit, her love and joyance thereof, if thou be so

minded, on the following terms. For a reason, which thou shalt

learn hereafter, one of her kinsmen is to bring home to her to-night

the corpse of Scannadio, who was buried this morning ; and she,

standing in mortal dread of this dead man, would fain not see him;

wherefore she prays thee to do her a great service, and be so good as




himself: —But allowing that 'tis neither the one nor the other, and

that her kinsmen are really to carry me to her house, I scarce believe

that 'tis either that they would fain embrace Scannadio's corpse them-

selves, or let her do so : rather it must be that they have a mind to

perpetrate some outrage upon it, for that, perchance, he once did

them an evil turn. She bids me say never a word, no matter what

I may hear or be otherwise ware of. Suppose they were to pluck

out my eyes, or my teeth, or cut off my hands, or treat me to some

other horse-play of the like sort, how then ? how could I keep

quiet ? And if I open my mouth, they will either recognize me,

and perchance do me a mischief, or, if they spare me, I shall have

been at pains for nought, for they will not leave me with the lady,

and she will say that I disobeyed her command, and I shall never

have aught of her favours.

As thus he communed with himself, he was on the point of

turning back ; but his overmastering love plied him with opposing

arguments of such force that he kept on his way, and reached

the tomb ; which having opened, he entered, and after stripping

Scannadio, and wrapping himself in the grave-clothes, closed it, and

laid himself down in Scannadio's place. He then fell a thinking of the

dead man, and his manner of life, and the things which he had heard

tell of as happening by night, and in other less appalling places than

the houses of the dead ; whereby all the hairs of his head stood on end,

and he momently expected Scannadio to rise and cut his throat.

However, the ardour of his love so fortified him that he overcame

these and all other timorous apprehensions, and lay as if he were

dead, awaiting what should betide him.

Towards midnight Rinuccio, bent likewise upon fulfilling his

lady's behest, sallied forth of his house, revolving as he went divers

forebodings of possible contingencies, as that, having Scannadio's

corpse upon his shoulders, he might fall into the hands of the Signory,

and be condemned to the fire as a wizard, or that, should the affair

get wind, it might embroil him with his kinsfolk, or the like, whichgave him pause. But then with a revulsion of feeling : —Shall I,

quoth he to himself, deny this lady, whom I so much have loved and

love, the very first thing that she asks of me ? And that too whenI am thereby to win her favour ? No, though 'twere as much as mylife is worth, far be it from me to fail of keeping my word. So on




he fared, and arrived at the tomb, which he had no difficulty in

opening, and being entered, laid hold of Alessandro, who, thoughin mortal fear, had given no sign of life, by the feet, and draggedhim forth, and having hoisted him on to his shoulders, bent his steps

towards the lady's house. And as he went, being none too careful

of Alessandro, he swung him from time to time against one or other

o^ the angles of certain benches that were by the wayside ; andindeed the night was so dark and murky that he could not see wherehe was going. And when he was all but on the threshold of the

lady's house (she standing within at a window with her maid, to markif Rinuccio would bring Alessandro, and being already provided with

an excuse forsending them

bothaway),

itso

befellthat the patrol of

the Signory, who were posted in the street in dead silence, being onthe look-out for a certain bandit, hearing the tramp of Rinuccio's

feet, suddenly shewed a light, the better to know what was toward,

and whither to go, and advancing targes and lances, cried out :

Who goes there ?'* Whereupon Rinuccio, having little leisure

for deliberation, let Alessandro fall, and took to flight as fast as his

legs might carry him. Alessandro, albeit encumbered by the grave-

clothes, which were very long, also jumped up and made off. Bythe light shewn by the patrol the lady had very plainly perceived

Rinuccio, with Alessandro on his back, as also that Alessandro had

the grave-clothes upon him ; and much did she marvel at the daring

of both, but, for all that, she laughed heartily to see Rinuccio drop

Alessandro, and Alessandro run away. Overjoyed at the turn the

affair had taken, and praising God that He had rid her of their harass,

she withdrew from the window, and betook her to her chamber,

averring to her maid that for certain they must both be mightily in

love with her, seeing that 'twas plain they had both done her

bidding.

Crestfallen and cursing his evil fortune, Rinuccio nevertheless

went not home, but, as soon as the street was clear of the patrol,

came back to the spot where he had dropped Alessandro, and stooped

down and began feeling about, if haply he might find him, and so do

his devoir to the lady ; but, as he found him not, he supposed the

patrol must have borne him thence, and so at last home he went ; as

did also Alessandro, knowing not what else to do, and deploring his

mishap. On the morrow, Scannadio's tomb being found open and




empty, for Alessandro had thrown the corpse into the vault below,

hU Pistoia debated of the matter with no small diversity of opinion,

the fools believing that Scannadio had been carried off by devils.

Neither of the lovers, however, forbore to make suit to the lady for

her favour and love, telling her what he had done, and what had hap-

pened, and praying her to have him excused that he had not perfectly

carried out her instructions. But she, feigning to believe neither of

them, disposed of each with the same curt answer, to wit, that, as he

had not done her bidding, she would never do aught for him.



NOVEL II.

An abbess rises in haste and in the dark, with intent to

surprise an accused nun abed with her lover: think-

ing to put on her veil^ she puts on instead the breeches

of a priest that she has with her : the nun, espying

her headgear, and doing her to wit thereof, is acquitted,

and thenceforth finds it easier to forgather with her

lover.

So ended Filomena ; and when all had commended the address

shewn by the lady in ridding herself of the two lovers that she

affected not, and contrariwise had censured the hardihood of the twolovers as not love but madness, the queen turned to Elisa, and with

a charming air : — Now, Elisa, follow, quoth she : whereupon Elisa

began on this wise : —Dearest ladies, 'twas cleverly done of MadonnaFrancesca, to disembarrass herself in the way we have heard : but I

have to tell of a young nun, who by a happy retort, and the favour

of Fortune, delivered herself from imminent peril. And as you

know that there are not a few most foolish folk, who, notwithstanding

their folly, take upon themselves the governance and correction of

others ; so you may learn from my story that Fortime at times justly

puts them to shame j which befell the abbess, who was the superior

of the nun of whom I am about to speak.

You are to know, then, that in a convent in Lombardy of very

great repute for strict and holy living there was, among other ladies

that there wore the veil, a young woman of noble family, and extra-

ordinary beauty. Now Isabetta —for such was her name —having

speech one day of one of her kinsmen at the grate, became enamoured»7«




of a fine young gallant that was with him ; who, seeing her to be

very fair, and reading her passion in her eyes, was kindled with a like

flame for her : which mutual and unsolaced love they bore a great

while not without great suffering to both. But at length, both being

intent thereon, the gallant discovered a way by which he might with

all secrecy visit his nun j and she approving, he paid her not one visit

only, but many, to their no small mutual solace. But, while thus they

continued their intercourse, it so befell that one night one of the

sisters observed him take his leave of Isabetta and depart, albeit neither

he nor she was ware that they had thus been discovered. The sister

imparted what she had seen to several others. At first they were

minded to denounce her to the abbess, one Madonna Usimbalda,

who was reputed by the nuns, and indeed by all that knew her, to

be a good and holy woman ; but on second thoughts they deemed it

expedient, that there might be no room for denial, to cause the abbess

to take her and the gallant in the act. So they held their peace, and

arranged between them to keep her in watch and close espial, that

they might catch her unawares. Of which practice Isabetta recking^

witting nought, it so befell that one night, when she had her lover

to see her, the sisters that were on the watch were soon ware of it,

and at what they deemed the nick of time parted into two companies,

of which one mounted guard at the threshold of Isabetta's cell, while

the other hasted to the abbess's chamber, and knocking at the door,

roused her, and as soon as they heard her voice, said :— Up, Madam,

without delay : we have discovered that Isabetta has a young manwith her in her cell.

Now that night the abbess had with her a priest whom she used

not seldom to have conveyed to her in a chest j and the report of the

sisters making her apprehensive lest for excess of zeal and hurry they

should force the door open, she rose in a trice ; and huddling on

her clothes as best she might in the dark, instead of the veil that

they wear, which they call the psalter, she caught up the priest's

breeches, and having clapped them on her head, hied her forth,

and locked the door behind her, saying : — Where is this womanaccursed of God ? And so, guided by the sisters, all so agog to catch

Isabetta a sinning that they perceived not what manner of head-

gear the abbess wore, she made her way to the cell, and with their

aid broke open the door j and entering they found the two lovers



SECOND STORY.] DECAMERON, 273

abed in one another's arms ; who, as it were, thunderstruck to be

thus surprised, lay there, witting not what to do. The sisters tookthe young nun forthwith, and by command of the abbess brought her

to the chapter-house. The gallant, left behind in the cell, put on

his clothes and waited to see how the affair would end, being minded

to make as many nuns as he might come at pay dearly for any despite

that might be done his mistress, and to bring her ofF with him. Theabbess, seated in the chapter-house with all her nuns about her, and

all eyes bent upon the culprit, began giving her the severest reprimand

that ever woman got, for that by her disgraceful and abominable con-

duct, should it get wind, she had sullied the fair fame of the convent

whereto she added menaces most dire. Shamefast and timorous, theculprit essayed no defence, and her silence begat pity of her in

the rest ; but, while the abbess waxed more and more voluble, it

chanced that the girl raised her head and espied the abbess's headgear,

and the points that hung down on this side and that. The signifi-

cance whereof being by no means lost upon her, she quite plucked

up heart, and : — Madam, quoth she, so help you God, tie up

your coif, and then you may say what you will to me. Whereto

the abbess, not understanding her, replied : — What coif, lewd

woman ? So thou hast the effrontery to jest I Think'st thou that

what thou hast done is a matter meet for jests ? Whereupon :

Madam, quoth the girl again, ** I pray you, tie up your coif, and

then you may say to me whatever you please. Which occasioned

not a few of the nuns to look up at the abbess's head, and the abbess

herself to raise her hands thereto, and so she and they at one and the

same time apprehended Isabetta's meaning. Wherefore the abbess,

finding herself detected by all in the same sin, and that no disguise

was possible, changed her tone, and held quite another sort of language

than before, the upshot of which was that 'twas impossible to with-

stand the assaults of the flesh, and that, accordingly, observing due

secrecy as theretofore, all might give themselves a good time, as they

had opportunity. So, having dismissed Isabetta to rejoin her lover in

her cell, she herself returned to lie with her priest. And many a

time thereafter, in spite of the envious, Isabetta had her gallant to

see her, the others, that lacked lovers, doing in secret the best they

might to push their fortunes.

VOL. II. T



NOVEL III.

Master Simone, at the instance of Bruno and Buffalmacco

and Nello^ makes Calandrino believe that he is with

child. Calandrino^ accordingly^ gives them capons andmoney for medicines^ and is cured without being

delivered.

When Elisa had ended her story, and all had given thanks to

God that He had vouchsafed the young nun a happy escape from

the fangs of her envious companions, the queen bade Filostrato follow

suit ; and without expecting a second command, thus Filostrato

began : —Fairest my ladies, the uncouth judge from the Marches, of

whom I told you yesterday, took from the tip of my tongue a story

of Calandrino, which I was on the point of narrating: and as noughtcan be said of him without mightily enhancing our jollity, albeit not

a little has already been said touching him and his comrades, I will

now give you the story which I had meant yesterday to give you.

Who they were, this Calandrino and the others that I am to tell of

in this story, has already been sufficiently explained ; wherefore,

without more ado, I say that one of Calandrino's aunts having died,

leaving him two hundred pounds in petty cash, Calandrino gave out

that he was minded to purchase an estate, and, as if he had had ten

thousand florins of gold to invest, engaged every broker in Florence

to treat for him, the negotiation always falling through, as soon as

the price was named. Bruno and Buffalmacco, knowing what was

afoot, told him again and again that he had better give himself a

jolly time with them than go about buying earth as if he must needs

make pellets j^ but so far were they from effecting their purpose,

1 /. €. bolts of clay for the cross-bow

^74




that they could not even prevail upon him to give them a single

meal. Whereat as one day they grumbled, being joined by a comradeof theirs, one Ncllo, also a painter, they all three took counsel howthey might wet their whistle at Calandrino's expense ; and, their

plan being soon concerted, the next morning Calandrino was scarce

gone out, when Nello met him, saying :— Good day, Calandrino :

whereto Calandrino replied :— God give thee a good day and a

good year. Nello then drew back a little, and looked him steadily

in the face, until : — What seest thou to stare at ? quoth Calan-drino. Hadst thou no pain in the night ? returned Nello; thou

seemest not thyself to me. Which Calandrino no sooner heard,

than he began to be disquieted, and : — Alas

How sayst thou r

quoth he. What tak'st thou ^o be the matter with me ? Why,as to that I have nothing to say, returned Nell* ;

but thouseemest to be quite changed : perchance 'tis not what I suppose ;

and with that he left him.

Calandrino, anxious, though he could not in the least have said

why, went on j and soon Buffalmacco, who was not far off, and had

observed him part from Nello, made up to him, and greeted him,

asking him if he was not in pain. I cannot say, replied Calan-

drino ; 'twas but now that Ncllo told me that I looked quite changed:can it be that there is aught the matter with me ? Aught ?

quoth BufFalmacco, ay, indeed, there might be a trifle the matter

with thee. Thou look'st to be half dead, man. Calandrino nowbegan to think he must have a fever. And then up came Brunoand the first thing he said was :

— Why, Calandrino, how ill thou

look'st thy appearance is that of a corpse. How dost thou feel ?

To be thus accosted by all three left no doubt in Calandrino's mindthat he was ill, and so : — What shall I do ? quoth he, in a great

fright. My advice, replied Bruno, is that thou go home and

get thee to bed and cover thee well up, and send thy water to

Master Simone, who, as thou knowest, is such a friend of ours. Hewill tell thee at once what thou must do j and we will come to see

thee, and will do aught that may be needful. And Nello then

joining them, they all three went home with Calandrino, who, nowquite spent, went straight to his room, and said to his wife: — Comenow, wrap me well up ; I feel very ill. And so he laid himself onthe bed, and sent a maid with his water to Master Simone, who had

then his shop in the Mercato Vecchio, at the sign of the pumpkin.




Whereupon quoth Bruno to his comrades: — You will stay here

with him, and I will go hear what the doctor has to say, and if needbe, will bring him hither. Prithee, do so, my friend, quoth

Calandrino, and bring me word how it is with me, for I feel as

how I cannot say in my inside. So Bruno hied him to Master

Simone, and before the maid arrived with the water, told him whatwas afoot. The Master, thus primed, inspected the water, and then

said to the maid :— Go tell Calandrino to keep himself very warm,

and I will come at once, and let him know what is the matter with

him, and what he tnust do. With which, message the maid wasscarce returned, when the Master and Bruno arrived, and the Master,

having seated himself beside Calandrino, felt his pulse,and by and by,

in the presence of his wife, said : — Harkye, Calandrino, I speak to

thee as a friei»d, and I tell thee that what is amiss with thee is just

that thou art with child. Whereupon Calandrino cried out queru-

lously :— Woe's me 'Tis thy doing, Tessa, for that thou must

needs be uppermost : I told thee plainly what would come of it.

Whereat the lady, being not a little modest, coloured from brow to

neck, and with downcast eyes, withdrew from the room, saying

never a word by way of answer. Calandrino ran on in the sameplaintive strain: — Alas woe's me What shall I do? How shall

I be delivered of this child ? What passage can it find ? Ah I see

only too plainly that the lasciviousness of this wife of mine has been

the death of me : God make her as wretched as I would fain be

happy Were I as well as I am not, I would get me up and thrash

her, till I left not a whole bone in her body, albeit it does but serve

me right for letting her get the upper place; but if I do win through

this, she shall never have it again ; verily she might pine to death for

it, but she should not have it.

Which to hear, Bruno and BufFalmacco and Nello were like to

burst with suppressed laughter, and Master Scimmione^ laughed so

frantically, that all his teeth were ready to start from his jaws. How-ever, at length, in answer to Calandrino's appeals and entreaties for

counsel and succour : — Calandrino, quoth the Master, thou

mayst dismiss thy fears, for, God be praised, we were apprised of thy

state in such good time that with but little trouble, in the course of a

few days, I shall set thee right ; but 'twill cost a little. Woe's

^ /. e. great ape : with a play on Simone.



THIRD STORV.] DECAMERON. 277

me, returned Calandrin >, be it so, Master, for the love of God : I

have here two hundred pounds, with which I had thoughts of buying

an estate : take them all, all, if you must have all, so only I may escape

being delivered, for I know not how I should manage it, seeing that

women, albeit 'tis much easier for them, do make such a noise in

the hour of their labour, that I misdoubt me, if I suffered so, I should

die before I was delivered. Disquiet not thyself, said the doctor :

I will have a potion distilled for thee ; of rare virtue it is, and not

a little palatable, and in the course of three days 'twill purge thee of

all, and leave thee in better fettle than a fish ; but thou wilt do well

to be careful thereafter, and commit no such indiscretions again.

Now to make this potion we must have three pair of good fat

capons, and, for divers other ingredients, thou wilt give one of thy

friends here five pounds in small change to purchase them, and thou

wilt have everything sent to my shop, and so, please God, I will

send thee this distilled potion to-morrow morning, and thou wilt

take a good beakerful each time. Whereupon :— Be it as you

bid. Master mine, quoth Calandrino, and handing Bruno five

pounds, and money enough to purchase three pair of capons, he

begged him, if it were not too much trouble, to do him the service

to buy these things for him. So away went the doctor, and made a

little decoction by way of draught, and sent it him. Bruno bought

the capons and all else that was needed to furnish forth the feast,

with which he and his comrades and the doctor regaled them.

Calandrino drank of the decoction for three mornings, after which

he had a visit from his friends and the doctor, who felt his pulse, and

then : — Beyond a doubt, Calandrino, quoth he, thou art cured,

and so thou hast no more occasion to keep indoors, but needst have

no fear to do whatever thou hast a mind to.** Much relieved,

Calandrino got up, and resumed his accustomed way of life, and,

wherever he found any one to talk to, was loud in praise of

Master Simone for the excellent manner in which he had cured

him, causing him in three days without the least suffering to

be quit of his pregnancy. And Bruno and Buffalmacco and

Nello were not a little pleased with themselves that they had so

cleverly got the better of Calandrino's niggardliness, albeit MonnaTessa, who was not deceived, murmured not a little against her

husband.



NOVEL IV.

Cecco, son of Messer Fortarrigo, loses hts all at play at

Buonconvento, besides the money ofCecco,

son ofMesser Angiulieri ; whom^ running after him in his

shirt and crying out that he has robbed him^ he causes

to be taken by peasants : he then puts on his clothes^

mounts his palfrey^ and leaves him to follow in his

shirt,

KiA. the company laughed beyond measure to hear what Calan-

drino said touching his wife : but, when Filostrato had done, Neifile,

being bidden by the queen, thus began : —Noble ladies, were it not

more difficult for men to evince their good sense and virtue than

their folly and their vice, many would labour in vain to set bounds

to their flow of words : whereof you have had a most conspicuous

example in poor blundering Calandrino, who, for the better cure

of that with which in his simplicity he supposed himself to be

afflicted, had no sort of need to discover in public his wife's secret

pleasures. Which affair has brought to my mind one that fell out

contrariwise, inasmuch as the guile of one discomfited the good

sense of another to the grievous loss and shame of the discomfited :

the manner whereof I am minded to relate to you

'Tis not many years since there were in Siena two young men,both of age, and both alike named Cecco, the one being son of

Messer Angiulieri, the other of Messer Fortarrigo. Who, albeit in

many other respects their dispositions accorded ill, agreed so well in

one, to wit, that they both hated their fathers, that they became

friends, and kept much together. Now Angiulieri, being a pretty

278




fellow, and well-matincrcd, could not brook to live at Siena on the

allowance made him by his father, and learning that there was comeinto the March of Ancona, as legate of the Pope, a cardinal, to whomhe was much boundcn, resolved to resort to him there, thinking thereby

to improve his circumstances. So, having acquainted his father with

his purpose, he prevailed upon him to give him there and then all that

he would have given him during the next six months, that he might

have the wherewith to furnish himself with apparel and a good mount,

so as to travel in a becoming manner. And as he was looking out for

some one to attend him as his servant, Fortarrigo, hearing of it,

came presently to him and besought him with all earnestness to take

him with him as his groom, or servant, or what he would, and hewould be satisfied with his keep, without any salary whatsoever.

Whereto Angiulieri made answer that he was not disposed to take

him, not but that he well knew that he was competent for any

service that might be required of him, but because he was given to

play, and therewithal would at times get drunk. Fortarrigo assured

him with many an oath that he would be on his guard to commit

neither fault, and added thereto such instant entreaties, that Angiulieri

was, as it were, vanquished, and consented. So one morning they

took the road for Buonconvento, being minded there to breakfast.

Nowwhen Angiulieri had breakfasted, as 'twas a very hot day, he

had a bed made in the inn, and having undressed with Fortarrigo's

help, he composed himself to sleep, telling Fortarrigo to call him on

the stroke of none. Angiulieri thus sleeping,^ Fortarrigo repaired to

the tavern, where, having slaked his thirst, he sate down to a game

with some that were there, who speedily won from him all his money,

and thereafter in like manner all the clothes he had on his back

:

wherefore he, being anxious to retrieve his losses, went, stripped as

he was to his shirt, to the room where lay Angiulieri ; and see-

ing that he was sound asleep, he took from his purse all the money

that he had, and so went back to the gaming-table, and staked it, and

lost it all, as he had his own.

By and by Angiulieri awoke, and got up, and dressed, and called

for Fortarrigo ; and as Fortarrigo answered not, he supposed that he

must have had too much to drink, and be sleeping it ofF somewhere,

as vvas his wont. He accordingly determined to leave him alone

and doubting not to find a better servant at Corsignano, he let saddle

his palfrey and attach the valise j but when, being about to depart.



2«o DECAMERON. [ninth day.

he would have paid the host, never a coin could he come by. Whereat

there was no small stir, so that all the inn was in an uproar, Angiu-

Heri averring that he had been robbed in the house, and threatening

to have them all arrested and taken to Siena ; when, lo, who should

make his appearance but Fortarrigo in his shirt, intent now to steal

the clothes, as he had stolen the moneys, of Angiulieri ? And mark-

ing that Angiulieri was accoutred for the road :— How is this,

Angiulieri ? quoth he. Are we to start so soon ? Nay, but wait

a little. One will be here presently that has my doublet in pawn

for thirty-eight soldi ; I doubt not he will return it me for thirty-

five soldi, if I pay money down. And while they were yet talking,

in came one that made it plain to Angiulieri that 'twas Fortarrigothat had robbed him of his money, for he told him the amount that

Fortarrigo had lost. Whereat Angiulieri, in a towering passion,

rated Fortarrigo right soundly, and, but that he stood more in fear of

man than of God, would have suited action to word ; and so,

threatening to have him hanged by the neck and proclaimed an out-

law at the gallows-tree of Siena, he mounted his horse.

Fortarrigo, making as if 'twas not to him, but to another, that

Angiulieri thus spoke, made answer : — Come now, Angiulieri, wewere best have done with all this idle talk, and consider the matter

of substance : we can redeem for thirty-fiv.e soldi, if we pay forth-

with, but if we wait till to-morrow, we shall not get off with less

than thirty-eight, the full amount of the loan ; and 'tis because I

staked by his advice that he will make me this allowance. Now whyshould not we save these three soldi ? Whereat Angiulieri waxed

well-nigh desperate, more particularly that he marked that the

bystanders were scanning him suspiciously, as if, so far from under-

standing that Fortarrigo had staked and lost his, Angiulieri's money,

they gave him credit for still being in funds : so he cried out :

What have I to do with thy doublet ? 'Tis high time thou wast

hanged by the neck, that, not content with robbing me and gambling

away my money, thou must needs also keep me in parley here andmake mock of me, when I would fain be gone. Fortarrigo, how-ever, still persisted in making believe that Angiulieri did not meanthis for him, and only said :

— Nay, but why wilt not thou save methese three soldi ? Think' st thou I can be of no more use to t hee ?

Prithee, an thou lov'st me, do me this turn. Wherefore in such a

hurry ? We have time enough to get to Torrenieri this evening.




Come now, out with thy purse. Thou knowcst I might scardh Siena

through, and not find a doublet that would suit me so well as this

and for all I let him have it for thirty-eight soldi, 'tis worth forty or

more ; so thou wilt wrong me twice over. Vexed beyond measure

that, after robbing him, Fortarrigo should now keep him clavering

about the matter, Angiulieri made no answer, but turned his horse's

head, and took the road for Torrcnieri. But Fortarrigo with cunning

malice trotted after him in his shirt, and 'twas still his doublet, his

doublet, that he would have of him : and when they had thus ridden

two good miles, and Angiulieri was forcing the pace to get out of

earshot of his pestering, Fortarrigo espied some husbandmen in a field

beside the road a little ahead of Angiulieri, and fell a shouting tothem amain : — Take thief take thief Whereupon they came

up with their spades and their mattocks, and barred Angiulieri's way,

supposing that he must have robbed the man that came shouting

after him in his shirt, and stopped him and apprehended him j and

little indeed did it avail him to tell them who he was, and how the

matter stood. For up came Fortarrigo with a wrathful air, and :

I know not, quoth he, why I spare to kill thee on the spot,

traitor, thief that thou art, thus to despoil me and give me the slip

And then, turning to the peasants : — You see, gentlemen, quoth

he, in what a trim he left me in the inn, after gambling away all

that he had with him and on him. Well indeed may I say that

under God 'tis to you I owe it that I have thus come by my ownagain : for which cause I shall ever be beholden to you. Angiulieri

also had his say ; but his words passed unheeded. Fortarrigo with

the help of the peasants compelled him to dismount ; and having

stripped him, donned his clothes, mounted his horse, and leaving him

barefoot and in his shirt, rode back to Siena, giving out on all hands

that he had won the p.iUrw*y and the clothes from Angiulieri. So

Angiulieri, having thought to present himself to the cardinal in the

March a wealthy man, returned to Buonconvcnto poor and in his

shirt; and being ashamed for the time to shew himself in Siena,

pledged the nag that Fortarrigo had ridden for a suit of clothes, and

betook him to his kinsfolk at Corsignano, where he tarried, until he

received a fresh supply of money from his father. Thus, then,

Fortarrigo's guile disconcerted Angiulieri's judicious purpose, albeit

when time and occasion served, it was not left unrequited.



NOVEL V.

Calandrino being enamoured of a damsel^ Bruno gives'

him a scroll^ averring that,if

he but touch her there-

with, she will go with him : he is found with her by his

wife, who subjects him to a most severe and vexatious

examination.

So, at no great length, ended Neifile her story, which the com-

pany allowed to pass with none too much laughter or remark

:

whereupon the queen, turning to Fiammetta, bade her follow suit.

Fiammetta, with mien most gladsome, made answer that she willingly

obeyed, and thus began : —As I doubt not, ye know, ladies most

debonair, be the topic of discourse never so well worn, it will still

continue to please, if the speaker knows how to make due choice of

time and occasion meet. Wherefore, considering the reason for

which we are here (how that 'tis to make merry and speed the time

gaily, and that merely) I deem that there is nought that may afford

us mirth and solace but here may find time and occasion meet, and,

after serving a thousand turns of discourse, should still prove not un-

pleasing for another thousand. Wherefore, notwithstanding that of

Calandrino and his doings not a little has from time to time been

said among us, yet, considering that, as a while ago Filostrato

observed, there is nought that concerns him that is not entertaining,

I will make bold to add to the preceding stories another, which I

might well, had I been minded to deviate from the truth, have disr

guised, and so recounted it to you, under other names ; but as whoso

in telling a story diverges from the truth does thereby in no small

measure diminish the delight of his hearers, I purpose for the reason

aforesaid to give you the narrative in proper form.

zSz




Niccolo Cornacchini, one of our citizens, and a man of wealth,

had among other estates a fine one at Camerata, on which he had

a grand house built, and engaged Bruno and BufFalmacco to paint it

throughout ; in which task, for that 'twas by no means light, they asso-

ciated with them Nello and Calandrino, and so set to work. There

were a few rooms in the house provided with beds and other furni-

ture, and an old female servant lived there as caretaker, but otherwise

the house was unoccupied, for which cause Niccolo's son, Filippo, being

a young man and a bachelor, was wont sometimes to bring thither a

woman for his pleasure, and after keeping her there for a few days to

escort her thence again. Now on one of these occasions it befell

that he brought thither one Niccolosa, whom a vile fellow, namedMangione, kept in a house at Camaldoli as a common prostitute.

And a fine piece of flesh she was, and wore fine clothes, and, for

one of her sort, knew how to comport herself becomingly and talk

agreeably.

Now one day at high noon forth tripped the damsel from her

chamber in a white gown, her locks braided about her head, to

wash her hands and face at a well that was in the courtyard of the

house, and, while she was so engaged, it befell that Calandrino came

there for water, and greeted her familiarly. Having returned his

salutation, she, rather because Calandrino struck her as something

out of the common, than for any other interest she felt in him,

regarded him attentively. Calandrino did the like by her, and being

smitten by her beauty, found reasons enough why he should not go

back to his comrades with the water ; but, as he knew not who she

was, he made not bold to address her. She, upon whom his gaze

was not lost, being minded to amuse herself at his expense, let her

glance from time to time rest upon him, while she heaved a slight

sigh or two. Whereby Calandrino was forthwith captivated, and

tarried in the courtyard, until Filippo called her back into the chamber.

Returned to his work, Calandrino sighed like a furnace : which

Bruno, who was ever regardful of his doings for the diversion they

afforded him, failed not to mark, and by and by :— What the

Devil is amiss with thee, comrade Calandrino ? quoth he. **Thou

dost nought but pufF and blow. ** Comrade, replied Calandrino,

I should be in luck, had I but one to help me. How so ?

quoth Bruno. Why, returned Calandrino, 'tis not to go farther,



4^4 DECAMERON. [ninth day.

but there is a damsel below, fairer than a lamia, and so mightily in

love with me that 'twould astonish thee. I observed it but now,when I went to fetch the water. Nay, but, Calandrino, makesure she be not Filippo's wife, quoth Bruno. I doubt 'tis even

so, replied Calandrino, for he called her and she joined him in the

chamber ; but what signifies it ? I would circumvent Christ Him-self in such case, not to say Filippo. Of a truth, comrade, I tell thee

she pleases me I could not say how. Comrade, returned Bruno,

I will find out for thee who she is, and if she be Filippo's wife, two

words from me will make it all straight for thee, for she is much myfriend. But how shall we prevent BufFalmacco knowing it ? I can

never have a word with her, but he is with me. As to Buffal-macco, replied Calandrino, I care not if he do know it ; but let

us make sure that it come not to Nello's ears, for he is of kin to

Monna Tessa, and would spoil it all. Whereto; — Thou art in

the right, returned Bruno.

Now Bruno knew what the damsel was, for he had seen her

arrive, and moreover Filippo had told him. So, Calandrino having

given over working for a while, and betaken him to her, Brunoacquainted Nello and BufFalmacco with the whole story ; and there-

upon they privily concerted how to entreat him in regard of this love

affair. Wherefore, upon his return, quoth Bruno softly: — Didst

see her ? Ay, woe's me replied Calandrino : she has

stricken me to the death. Quoth Bruno : — I will go see if she

be the lady I take her to be, and if I find that 'tis so, leave the

rest to me. Whereupon down went Bruno, and found Filippo and

the damsel, and fully apprised them what sort of fellow Calandrino

was, and what he had told them, and concerted with them what

each should do and say, that they might have a merry time together

over Calandrino's love affair. He then rejoined Calandrino, saying :

'Tis the very same ; and therefore the affair needs very delicate

handling, for, if Filippo were but ware thereof, not all Arno's waters

would suffice to cleanse us. However, what should I say to her

from thee, if by chance I should get speech of her ? I' faith,

replied Calandrino, why, first, first of all, thou wilt tell her that I

wish her a thousand bushels of the good seed of generation, and then

that I am her servant, and if she is fain of —aught —thou tak'st

me? Ay, quoth Bruno, leave it to me. ,•



FIFTH STORV.] DECAMERON. 285

Supper-time came; and, the day's work done, they went down

into the courtyard, Filippo and Niccolosa being there, and therethey tarried a while to advance Calandrino's suit. Calandripo's gaze

was soon riveted on Niccolosa, and such and so strange and startling

were the gestures that he made that they would have given sight to

the blind. She on her part used ail her arts to inflame his passion,

primed as she had been by Bruno, and diverted beyond measure as

she was by Calandrino's antics, while Filippo, Buifalmacco and the

rest feigned to be occupied in converse, and to see nought of whatpassed. However, after a while, to Calandrino's extreme disgust, they

toolc their leave ; and as they bent their steps towards Florence :

I warrant thee, quoth Bruno to Calandrino, she wastes awayfor thee like ice in the sunlight ; by the body o' God, if thou

wert to bring thy rebeck, and sing her one or two of thy love-songs,

she'd throw herself out of window to be with thee. Quoth Calan-

drino :— Think'st thou, comrade, think'st thou, 'twere well I

brought it ? Ay, indeed, returned Bruno. Whereupon :

Ah comrade, quoth Calandrino, so thou wouldst not believe

me when I told thee to-day ? Of a truth I perceive there's ne'er

another knows so well what he would be at as I. Who but I

would have known how so soon to win the love of a lady like that ?

Lucky indeed might they deem themselves, if they did it, those

young gallants that go about, day and night, up and down, a strum-

ming on the one-stringed viol, and would not know how to gather

a handful of nuts once in a millennium. Mayst thou be by to see

when I bring her the rebeck thou wilt see f ine sport . List well

what I say : I am not so old as I look ; and she knows it right well

ay, and anyhow I will soon let her know it, when I come to grapple

her. By the very body of Christ I will have such sport with her,

that she will follow me as any love-sick maid follows her swain.

Oh quoth Bruno, I doubt not thou wilt make her thy prejr

and I seem to see thee bite her dainty vermeil mdbth and her cheeks,

that shew as twin roses, with thy teeth, that are as so many lute-pegs,

and afterwards devour her bodily. So encouraged, Calandrino

fancied himself already in action, and went about singing and caper-

ing in such high glee that 'twas as if he would burst his skin. And so

next day he brought the rebeck, and to the no small amusement

of all the company sang several songs to her. And, in short, by




frequently seeing her, he waxed so mad with passion that he gave

over working ; and a thousand times a day he would run now to thewindow, now to the door, and anon to the courtyard on the chance

of catching sight of her ; nor did she, astutely following Bruno's

instructions, fail to afford him abundance of opportunity. Bruno

played the go-between, bearing him her answers to all his messages,

and sometimes bringing him messages from her. When she was not

at home, which was most frequently the case, he would send himletters from her, in which she gave great encouragement to his hopes,

at the same time giving him to understand that she was at the house

of her kinsfolk, where as yet he might not visit her.

On this wise Bruno and Buffalmacco so managed the affair as to

divert themselves inordinately, causing him to send her, as at her

request, now an ivory comb, now a purse, now a little knife, and

other such dainty trifles j in return for which they brought him, nowand again, a counterfeit ring of no value, with which Calandrino was

marvellously pleased. And Calandrino, to stimulate their zeal in his

interest, would entertain them hospitably at table, and otherwise

flatter them. Now, when they had thus kept him in play for twogood months, and the affair was just where it had been, Calandrino,

seeing that the work was coming to an end, and bethinking him that,

if it did so before he had brought his love affair to a successful issue,

he must give up all hopes of ever so doing, began to be very instant

and importunate with Bruno, So, in the presence of the damsel, and

by preconcert with her and Filippo, quoth Bruno to Calandrino :

Harkye, comrade, this lady has vowed to me a thousand times that

she will do as thou wouldst have her, and as, for all that, she does

nought to pleasure thee, I am of opinion that she leads thee by the

nose : wherefore, as she keeps not her promises, we will make her

do so, willy-nilly, if thou art so minded. Nay, but, for the love

of God, so be it, replied Calandrino, and that speedily. Darest

thou touch her, then, with a scroll that I shall give thee ? quoth

Bruno. I dare, replied Calandrino. Fetch me, then, quothBruno, a bit of the skin of an unborn lamb, a live bat, three grains of

incense, and a blessed candle ; and leave the rest to me. To catch

the bat taxed all Calandrino's art and craft for the whole of the evening

but having at length taken him, he brought him with the other

matters to Bruno : who, having withdrawn into a room by himself,



i88 DECAMERON. [ninth day,

barn, whither Niccolosa followed him, and being entered, shut the

door, and forthwith embraced him, threw him down on the strawthat lay there, and got astride of him, and holding him fast by the

arms about the shoulders, suffered him not to approach his face to

hers, but gazing upon him, as if he were the delight of her heart :

O Calandrino, sweet my Calandrino, quoth she, heart of mybody, my very soul, my bliss, my consolation, ah how long have I

yearned to hold thee in my arms and have thee all my own Thyendearing ways have utterly disarmed me ; thou hast made prize of

my heart with thy rebeck. Do 1 indeed hold thee in mine em-

brace ? Calandrino, scarce able to move, murmured : '^ Ah sweet

my soul, suffer me to kiss thee. Whereto : — Nay, but thou art

too hasty, replied Niccolosa. Let me first feast mine eyes on

thee ; let me but sate them with this sweet face of thine.

Meanwhile Bruno and BufFalmacco had joined Filippo, so that

what passed was seen and heard by all three. And while Calandrino

was thus intent to kiss Niccolosa, lo, up came Nello with MonnaTessa. By God, I swear they are both there, ejaculated Nello, as

they entered the doorway j but the lady, now fairly furious, laid hold

of him and thrust him aside, and rushing in, espied Niccolosa astride

of Calandrino. Niccolosa no sooner caught sight of the lady*, than

up she jumped, and in a trice was beside Filippo. Monna Tessa fell

upon Calandrino, who was still on the floor, planted her nails in his

face, and scratched it all over : she then seized him by the hair, and

haling him to and fro about the barn :— Foul, pestilent cur, quoth

she, is this the way thou treatest me ? Thou old fool A murrain

on the love I have borne thee Hast thou not enough to do at

home, that thou must needs go falling in love with strange women ?

And a fine lover thou wouldst make Dost not know thyself,

knave ? Dost not know thyself, wretch ? Thou, from whose whole

body 'twere not possible to wrmg enough sap for a sauce God's

faith, 'twas not Tessa thr.t got thee with child : God's curse on her,

whoever she was : verily she must be a poor creature to be enamouredof a jewel of thy rare quality. At sight of his wife, Calandrino,

suspended, as it were, between life and death, ventured no defence j but,

his face torn to shreds, his hair and clothes all disordered, fumbled about

for his capuche, which having found, up he got, and humbly besought

his wife not to publish the matter, unless she were minded that he



FIFTH sroRY.J DECAMERON. 289

should be cut to pieces, for that she that was with him was the wife

of the master of the house. Then God give her a bad year,'*replied the lady. Whereupon Bruno and Uuffalmacco, who by this

time had laughed their fill with Filippo and Niccolosa, came up as if

attracted by the noise ; and after not a little ado pacified the lady,

and counselled Calandrino to go back to Florence, and stay there,

lest Filippo should get wind of the affair, and do him a mischief.

So Calandrino, crestfallen and woebegone, got him back to Florence

with his face torn to shreds ; where, daring not to shew himself at

Camerata again, he enduj^d day and night the grievous torment of

his wife's vituperation. Such was the issue, to which, after ipinister-

ing not a little mirth to his comrades, as also to Niccolosa afid Filippo,

tiiis ardent lover brought his amour.

VOL. 11.



NOVEL VI.

Two young men lodge at an inn, of whom the one lies with

the hosfs daughter, his wife by inadvertence lying

with the other. He that lay with the daughter after-

wards gets into her father s bed and tells him all,

taking him to be his comrade. They bandy words :

whereupon the good woman, apprehending the circum-

stances, gets her to bed with her daughter, and by

divers apt words re-establishes perfect accord.

Calandrino as on former occasions, so also on this, moved the

company to laughter. However, when the ladies had done talking

of his doings, the queen called for a story from Pamfilo, who thus

spoke : —^Worshipful ladies, this Niccolosa, that Calandrino loved,

has brought to my mind a story of another Niccolosa ; which I amminded to tell you, because 'twill shew you how a good womanby her quick apprehension avoided a great scandal.

In the plain of Mugnone there was not long ago a good man that

furnished travellers with meat and drink for money, and, for that he

was in poor circumstances, and had but a little house, gave not lodg-

ing to every comer, but only to a few that he knew, and if they were

hard bested. Now the good man had to wife a very fine woman,and by her had two children, to wit, a pretty and winsome girl of

. some fifteen or sixteen summers, as yet unmarried, and a little

boy, not yet one year old, whom the mother suckled at her own• breast. The girl had found favour in the eyes of a goodly and

mannerly young gentleman of our city, who was not seldom in those

parts, and loved her to the point of passion. And she, being mightily

flattered to be loved by such a gallant, studied how to comport herself

290



ttXTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 291

so debonairly as to retain his regard, and while she did so, grewlikewise enamoured of him ; and divers times, by consent of boththeir love had had its fruition, but that Pinuccio— such was the

gallant's name —shrank from the disgrace that 'twould bring uponthe girl and himself alike. But, as his passion daily waxed apace,

Pinuccio, yearning to find himself abed with her, bethought him that

he were best contrive to lodge with her father, deeming, from whathe knew of her father's economy, that, if he did so, he might effect

his purpose, and never a soul be the wiser : which idea no sooner

struck him, than he set about carrying it into effect.

So, late one evening Pinuccio and a trusty comrade, Adriano by

name, to whom he had confided his love, hired two nags, and havingset upon them two valises, filled with straw or such-like stuff, sallied

forth of Florence, and rode by a circuitous route to the plain of

Mugnone, which they reached after nightfall ; and having fetched acompass, so that it might seem as if they were coming from Romagria,they rodft up to the good man's house, and knocked at the door.

The good man, knowing them both very well, opened to them forth-

with : whereupon :— Thou must even put us up to-night, quoth

Pinuccio ; we thought to get into Florence, but, for all the speed

we could make, we are but arrived here, as thou seest, at this hour.

Pinuccio, replied the host, thou well knowest that I can but

make a sorry shift to lodge gentlemen like you ; but yet, as night

has overtaken you here, and time serves not to betake you elsewhere,

I will gladly give you such accommodation as I may. The twogallants then dismounted and entered the inn, and having first looked

to their horses, brought out some supper that they had carried with

them, and supped with the host.

Now the host had but one little bedroom, in which were three

beds, set, as conveniently as he could contrive, two on one side of the

room, and the third on the opposite side, but, for all that, there wasscarce room enough to pass through. The host had the least discom-

fortable of the three beds made up for the two friends ; and having

quartered them there, some little while afterwards, both being awake,

but feigning to be asleep, he caused his daughter to get into one of

the other two beds, while he and his wife took their places in the

third, the good woman setting the cradle, in which was her little boy,

beside the bed. Such, then, being the partition made of the beds.



A.


Pinuccio, who had taken exact note thereof, waited only until he

deemed all but himself to be asleep, and then got softly up and stole

to the bed in which lay his beloved, and laid himself beside her ; and

she according him albeit a timorous yet a gladsome welcome, he

stayed there, taking with her that solace of which both were most

fain.

Pinuccio being thus with the girl, it chanced that certain things,

being overset by a cat, fell with a noise that aroused the good woman,who, fearing that it might be a matter of more consequence, got upas best she might in the dark, and betook her to the place whence the

noise seemed to proceed. At the same time Adriano, not by reason

of the noise, which he heeded not, but perchance to answer the call ofnature, also got up, and questing about for a convenient place, cameupon the cradle beside the good woman's bed ; and not being able

otherwise to go by, took it up, and set it beside his own bed, and

when he had accomplished his purpose, went back, and giving never

a thought to the cradle got him to bed. The good woman searched

until she found that the accident was no such matter as she had

supposed ; so without troubling to strike a light to investigate it

further, she reproved the cat, and returned to the room, and groped

her way straight to the bed in which her husband lay asleep ; but not

finding the cradle there,quoth she to

herself :

—Alas blunderer that

I am, what was I about ? God's faith I was going straight to the

guests' bed J and proceeding a little further, she found the cradle, and

laid herself down by Adriano in the bed that was beside it, taking

Adriano for her husband ; and Adriano, who was still awake, received

her with all due benignity, and tackled her more than once to her

no small delight.

Meanwhile Pinuccio fearing lest sleep should overtake him while

he was yet with his mistress, and having satisfied his desire, got up

and left her, to return to his bed ; but when he got there, coming

upon the cradle, he supposed that 'twas the host's bed ; and so going

a little further, he laid him down beside the host, who thereupon

awoke. Supposing that he had Adriano beside him :— I warrant

thee, quoth Pinuccio to the host, there was never so sweet a piece

of flesh as Niccolosa : by the body of God, such delight have I had

of her as never had man of woman ; and, mark me, since I left thee,

1 have gotten me up to the farm some six times. Which tidings



fixTH sTORv.] DECAMERON. 293

the host being none too well pleased to learn, taid firet of all to

himself :

—What the Devil does this fellow here ? Then, hit

resentment getting the better of his prudence : —** 'Tis a gross affront

thou hast put upon me, Pinuccio, quoth he ; nor know I whatoccasion thou hast to do me such a wrong ; but by the body of GodI will pay thee out. Pinuccio, who was not the most discreet of

gallants, albeit he was now apprised of his error, instead of doing his

best to repair it, retorted :— And how wilt thou pay mc out i

What canst thou do ? '* Hark what high words our guests arc at

together quoth meanwhile the host's wife to Adriano, deemingthat she spoke to her husband. Let them be, replied Adriano

with a laugh : God give them a bad year : they drank too

muchyestereve. The good woman had already half recognized her

husband's angry tones, and now that she heard Adriano's voice, she

at once knew where she was and with whom. Accordingly, being

a discreet woman, she started up, and saying never a word, took her

child's cradle, and, though there was not a ray of light in the room, t , //

bore it, divining rather than feeling her way, to the side of the bed

in which her daughter slept ; and then, as if aroused by the noise

made by her husband, she called him, and asked what he and

Pinuccio were bandying words about. Hearest thou not, replied

the husband, what he says he has this very night done to

Niccolosa ? Tush he lies in the throat, returned the good

woman :*' he has not lain with Niccolosa ; for what time he might

have done so, I laid me beside her myself, and I have been wide

awake ever since ; and thou art a fool to believe him. You mentake so many cups before going to bed that then you dream, and

walk in your sleep, and imagine wonders. 'Tis a great pity you do

not break your necks. What does Pinuccio there ? Why keeps he

not in his own bed ?

Whereupon Adriano, in his turn, seeing how adroitly the good

woman cloaked her own and her daughter's shame :— Pinuccio,

quoth he, I have told thee a hundred times, that thou shouldst notwalk about at night ; for this thy bad habit of getting up in thy

dreams and relating thy dreams for truth will get thee into a scrape

some time or another : come back, and God send thee a bad night.

Hearing Adriano thus confirm what his wife had said, the host began

to think that Pinuccio must be really dreaming } so he took him by



2g4 DECAMERON. [ninth day.

r -* the shoulder, and fell a shaking him, and calling him by his name,

/ Jsaying : —*' Pinuccio, wake up, and go back to thy bed. Pinuccio,

taking his cue from what he had heard, began as a dreamer would.be

like to do, to talk wanderingly ; whereat the host laughed amain.

Then, feigning to be aroused by the shaking, Pinuccio uttered

Adriano's name, saying :— Is't already day, that thou callest me ?

Ay, 'tis so, quoth Adriano : come hither. Whereupon Pinuccio,

making as if he were mighty drowsy, got him up from beside the host,

and back to bed with Adriano. On the morrow, when they wererisen, the host fell a laughing and making merry touching Pinuccio and

his dreams. And so the jest passed from mouth to mouth, while the

gallants' horses were groomed and saddled, and their valises adjusted :

which done, they drank with the host, mounted and rode to Florence,

no less pleased with the manner than with the matter of the night's

adventure. Nor, afterwards, did Pinuccio fail to find other means of

meeting Niccolosa, who assured her mother that he had unquestion-

ably dreamed. For which cause the good woman, calling to mindAdriano's embrace, accounted herself the only one that had watched.



NOVEL VII.

Talano di Molese dreams that a wolf tears and rends all

the neck and faceof

his wfe : he gives her ivarning

thereof which she heeds not, and the dream comes

true.

When Pamfilo had brought his story to a close, and all had com-mended the good woman's quick perception, the queen bade Pampinca

tell hers ; and thus Pampinea began : —A while ago, debonair myladies, we held discourse of the truths that dreams shew forth, which

not a few of us deride ; for which cause, albeit the topic has been

handled before, I shall not spare to tell you that which not long ago

befell a neighbour of mine, for that she disbelieved a dream that her

husband had.

I wot not if you knew Talano di Molese, a man right worthy to

be had in honour ; who, having married a young wife —Margarita

by name —fiiir as e'er another, but without her match for whimsical,

fractious, and perverse humours, insomuch that there was nought she

would do at the instance of another, either for his or her own good,

found her behaviour most grievous to bear, but was fain to endure

what he might not cure. Now it so befell that Talano and

Margarita being together at an estate that Talano had in the contado,

he, sleeping, saw in a dream a very beautiful wood that was on the

estate at no great distance from the house, and his lady there walking.

And as she went, there leapt forth upon her a huge and fierce wolf that

griped her by the throat, and bore her down to the ground, and (she

shrieking the while for succour) would have carried her off bv main

force; but she got quit of his jaws, albeit her neck and face shewed as

quite disfigured. On the morrow, as soon as he was risen, Talano said

»95




to his wife : — Albeit for thy perversity I have not yet known a single

good day with thee, yet I should be sorry, wife, that harm should

befall thee ; and therefore, if thou take my advice, thou wilt not stir

out of doors to-day. Wherefore ? quoth the lady ; and there-

upon he recounted to her all his dream.

The lady shook her head, saying :— Who means ill, dreams ill.

Thou makest as if thou wast mighty tender of me, but thou bodest of

me in thy dream that which thou wouldst fain see betide me. I

warrant thee that to-day and all days I will have a care to avoid

this or any other calamity that might gladden thy heart. Where-upon : — Well wist I, replied Talano, *' that thou wouldst so say,

for such is ever the requital of those that comb scurfy heads ; butwhatever thou mayst be pleased to believe, I for my part speak to

thee for thy good, and again I advise thee to keep indoors to-day, or

at least not to walk in the wood. Good, returned the lady, I

will look to it, and then she began communing with herself on this

wise : —Didst mark how artfully he thinks to have scared me from

going into the wood to-day ? Doubtless 'tis that he has an assignation

there with some light o' love, with whom he had rather I did not

find him. Ah he would sup well with the blind, and what a fool

were I to believe him But I warrant he will be disappointed, and

needs must I, though I stay there all day long, see what commerce it

is that he will adventure in to-day.

Having so said, she quitted the house on one side, while her

husband did so on the other ; and forthwith, shunning observation as

best she might, she hied her to the wood, and hid her where 'twas

most dense, and there waited on the alert, and glancing, now this

way and now that, to see if any were coming. And while thus she

stood, nor ever a thought of a wolf crossed her mind, lo, forth of

a close covert hard by came a wolf of monstrous size and appalling

aspect, and scarce had she time to say, God help me before he sprang

upon her and griped her by the throat so tightly that she might not

utter a cry, but, passive as any lambkin, was borne ofF by him, andhad certainly been strangled, had he not encountered some shep-

herds, who with shouts compelled him to let her go. The shepherds

recognized the poor hapless woman, and bore her home, where the

physicians by dint of long and careful treatment cured her ; howbeit

the whole of her throat and part of her face remained so disfigured



NOVEL VIII.

Biondello gulls Ciacco in the matter of a breakfast : for

which prank Ciacco is cunningly avenged on Biondello^

causing him to be shamefully beaten.

All the company by common consent pronounced it no dream

but a vision that Talano had had in his sleep, so exactly, no circum-

stance lacking, had it fallen out according as he had seen it. How-ever, as soon as all had done speaking, the queen bade Lauretta

follovi^ suit ; v/hich Lauretta did on this wîse : —As, most discreet

my ladies, those that have preceded me to-day have almost all taken

their cue from somevs^hat that has been said before, so, prompted by

the stern vengeance taken by the scholar in Pampinea's narrative of

yesterday, I am minded to tell you of a vengeance that v^âs indeed

less savage, but for all that grievous enough to him on v/hom it wâs

wreaked.

Wherefore I say that there was once at Florence one that all

folk called Ciacco, a man second to none that ever lived for inordi-

nate gluttony, who, lacking the means to support the expenditure

which his gluttony demanded, and being, for the rest, well-mannered

and well furnished with excellent and merry jests, did, without turn-

ing exactly court jester, cultivate a somewhat biting wit, and loved

to f requent the houses of the rich, and such as kept good tables

whither, bidden or unbidden, he not seldom resorted for breakfast or

supper. There was also in those days at Florence one that was called

Biondello, a man very short of stature, and not a little debonair, more

trim than any fly, with his blond locks surmounted by a coif, and

never a hair out of place ; and he and Ciacco were two of a trade.

Now one morning in Lent Biondello, being in the fish-market

purchasing two mighty fat lampreys for Messer Vieri de' Cerchi, was



iiCHTH STORY.] DECAMERON. 299

observed thus engaged by Ciacco, who came up to him, and :—

What means this? quoth he. Why, replied Biondello,**

'tit

that yestereve Messer Corso Donati had three lampreys much finer

than these and a sturgeon sent to his house, but as they did not

suffice for a breakfast that he is to give certain gentlemen, he has

commissioned me to buy him these two beside. Wilt thou not be

there ? Ay, marry, that will I, returned Ciacco. And in whathe deemed due time he hied him to Messer Corso Donati's house, wherehe found him with some of his neighbours not yet gone to breakfast.

And being asked by Messer Corso with what intent he was come,

he answered : — I am come. Sir, to breakfast with you and your

company. And welcomeart

thou, returned Messer Corso,

gowe then to breakfast, for 'tis now the time. So to table they went,

where nought was set before them but pease and the inward part of

the tunny salted, and afterwards the common fish of the Arno fried.

Wherefore Ciacco, not a little wroth at the trick that he perceived

Biondello had played him, resolved to pay him out. And not manydays after Biondello, who had meanwhile had many a laugh with his

friends over Ciacco's discomfiture, met him, and after greeting him,

asked him with a laugh what Messer Corso's lampreys had been like.

That question, replied Ciacco, thou wilt be able to answer muchbetter than I before eight days are gone by. And parting from

Biondello upon the word, he went forthwith and hired a cozening

rogue, and having thrust a glass bottle into his hand, brought himwithin sight of the Loggia de' Cavicciuli ; and there, pointing to a

knight, one Messer Filippo Argenti, a tall man and stout, and of

a high courage, and haughty, choleric and cross-grained as ne'er

another, he said to him : — Thou wilt go, flask in hand, to Messer

Filippo, and wilt say to him :—

' I am sent to you, Sir, by Biondello,

who entreats you to be pleased to colour this flask for him with someof your good red wine, for that he is minded to have a good time with

his catamites.' And of all things have a care that he lay not hands

upon thee, for he would make thee rue the day, and would spoil mysport.'* Have I aught else to say ? enquired the rogue. Nothingmore, returned Ciacco : and now get thee gone, and when thou

hast delivered the message, bring me back the flask, and I will pay

thee.

So away went the rogue, and did the errand to Messer Filippo,




who forthwith, being a hasty man, jumped to the conclusion that

Biondello, whom he knew, was making mock of him, and while anangry flush overspread his face : —

' Colour the flask, forsooth '

quoth he, and ' Catamites ' God send thee and him a bad year

and therewith up he started, and reached forward to lay hold of the

rogue, who, being on the alert, gave him the slip and was off^ and

reported Messer Filippo's answer to Ciacco, who had observed what

had passed. Having paid the rogue, Ciacco rested not until he had

found Biondello, to whom :— Wast thou but now, quoth he, at

the Loggia de' Cavicciuli? Indeed no, replied Biondello; where-

fore such a question ? Because, returned Ciacco, I may tell

thee that thou art sought for by Messer Filippo, for what cause I knownot. Good, quoth Biondello, I will go thither and speak with

him. So away went Biondello, and Ciacco followed him to see

what course the affair would take.

Now having failed to catch the rogue, Messer Filippo was still

very wroth, and inly fumed and fretted, being unable to make out

aught from what the rogue had said save that Biondello was set on

by some one or another to flout him. And while thus he vexed his

spirit, up came Biondello j whom he no sooner espied than he madefor him, and dealt him a mighty blow in the face, and tore his hair

and coif, and cast his capuche on the ground^ and to his Alas, Sir,

what means this ? still beating him amain : — Traitor, cried he ; Iwill give thee to know what it means to send me such a message.

' Colour the flask,' forsooth, and ' Catamites ' Dost take me for a

stripling, to be befooled by thee ? And therewith he pummelled

Biondello's face all over with a pair of fists that were liker to iron

than aught else, until it was but a mass of bruises ; he also tore and

dishevelled all his hair, tumbled him in the mud, rent all his clothes

upon his back, and that without allowing him breathing-space to ask

why he thus used him, or so much as utter a word. Colour methe flask and Catamites I

rang in his ears ; but what the

words signified he knew not. In the end very badly beaten, and in

very sorry and ragged trim, many folk having gathered around them,

they, albeit not without the utmost difficulty, rescued him from

Messer Filippo's hands, and told him why Messer Filippo had thus

used him, censuring him for sending him such a message, and adding

that thenceforth he would know Messer Filippo better, and that he




was not A man to be trifled with. Biondello told them in tearful

exculpation that he had never sent for wine to Messer Filippo

then, when they had put him in a little better trim, crestfallen and

woebegone, he went home imputing his misadventure to Ciacco.

And when, many days afterwards, the marks of his ill-usage being

gone from his face, he began to go abroad again, it chanced that

Ciacco met him, and with a laugh :— Biondello, quoth he, how

didst thou relish Messer Filippo's wine ? Why, as to that,'*

replied Biondello, '' would thou hadst relished the lampreys of Messer

Corso as much So returned Ciacco, such meat as thou then

gavest me, thou mayst henceforth give me, as often as thou art so

minded ; and I will give thee even such drink as I have given thee.So Biondello, witting that against Ciacco his might was not equal to

his spite, prayed God for his peace, and was careful never to flout

him again.



NOVEL IX.

Two young men ask counsel of Solomon ; the o?ie, how he

is to make himself beloved, the other, how he is to reduce

an ' unrulywife

to order. 'The King bids the one to

love, and the other to go to the Bridge of Geese.

None now remained to tell save the queen, unless she were

minded to infringe Dioneo's privilege. Wherefore, when the ladies

had laughed their fill over the misfortunes of Biondello, thus gaily-

the queen began : —Observe we, lovesome ladies, the order of things

with a sound mind, and we shall readily perceive that we women are

one and all subjected by Nature and custom and law unto man, by

him to be ruled and governed at his discretion ; wherefore she, that

would fain enjoy quietude and solace and comfort with the man to

whom she belongs, ought not only to be chaste but lowly, patient

and obedient : the which is the discreet wife's chief and most precious

possession. And if the laws, which in all matters have regard unto

the common weal, and use and wont or custom (call it what youwill), a power very great and to be had in awe, should not suffice to

school us thereto ; yet abundantly clear is the witness of Nature,

which has fashioned our frames delicate and sensitive, and our spirits

timorous and fearful, and has decreed that our bodily strength shall

be slight, our voices tunable, and our movements graceful ; which

qualities do all avouch that we have need of others' governance.

And whoso has need of succour and governance ought in all reason

to be obedient and submissive and reverent towards his governor.

And whom have we to govern and succour us save men ? 'Tis then

our bounden duty to give men all honour and submit ourselves unto

them : from which rule if any deviate, I deem her most deserving

not only of grave censure but of severe chastisement. Which302




Giosefo made an answer that he was going to seek counsel of Solomon,

how he should deal with his wife, who had not her match amongwomen for unruliness and perversity, insomuch that neither entreaties

nor blandishments nor aught else availed him to bring her to a better

frame. And thereupon he in like manner asked Melisso whence he

was, and whither he was bound, and on what errand : whereto :

Of Lazistan, I, replied Melisso, and like thyself in evil plightj

for albeit I am wealthy and spend my substance freely in hospitably

entertaining and honourably entreating my fellow-citizens, yet for

all that, passing strange though it be to think upon, I find never a

soul to love me ; and therefore I am bound to the self-same place as

thou, to be advised how it may come to pass that I be beloved.

So the two men fared on together, and being arrived at Jeru-

salem, were, by the good offices of one of Solomon's barons, ushered

into his presence, and Melisso having briefly laid his case before the

King, was answered in one word : — Love. Which said, Melisso

was forthwith dismissed, and Giosefo discovered the reason of his

coming. To whom Solomon made no answer but : — Get thee

to the Bridge of Geese. Whereupon Giosefo was likewise promptly

ushered out of the King's presence, and finding Melisso awaiting

him, told him what manner of answer he had gotten. Whichutterances of the King the two men pondered, but finding therein

nought that was helpful or relevant to their need, they doubted

the King had but mocked them, and set forth upon their homewardjourney.

Now when they had been some days on the road, they came to

a river, which was spanned by a fine bridge, and a great caravan of

sumpter mules and horses being about to cross, they must needs

tarry, until the caravan had passed by. The more part of which

had done so, when it chanced that a mule turned sulky, as we knowthey will not seldom do, and stood stock still ; wherefore a muleteeif

took a stick and fell a beating the mule therewith, albeit at first with

no great vigour, to urge the mule forward. The mule, however,swerving, now to this, now to the other side of the bridge, and some-

times facing about, utterly refused to go forward. Whereat tlie

muleteer, wroth beyond measure, fell a belabouring him with the stick

now on the head, now on the flanks, and anon on the croup, never

so lustily, but all to no purpose. Which caused Melisso and Giosefo




ofttimcs to say to him: — How now, caitiff? What is this thou

docst ? Wouldst kill the beast ? Why not try if thou canst notmanage him kindly and gently ? He would start sooner so than for

this cudgelling of thine. To whom : — You know your horses,

replied the muleteer, and I know my mule : leave me to deal with

him. Which said, he resumed his cudgelling of the mule, and laid

about him on this side and on that to such purpose that he started

him ; and so the honours of the day rested with the muleteer. Now,as the two young men were leaving the bridge behind them, Giosefo

asked a good man that sate at its head what the bridge was called,

and was answered : — Sir, 'tis called the Bridge of Geese.** WhichGiosefo no sooner heard than he called to mind Solomon's words,

and turning to Melisso : — Now, comrade, I warrant thee I mayyet find Solomon's counsel sound and good, for that I knew not howto beat my wife is abundantly clear to me ; and this muleteer has

shewn me what I have to do.

Now some days afterwards they arrived at Antioch, whereGiosefo prevailed upon Melisso to tarry with him and rest a day or

two ; and meeting with but a sorry welcome on the part of his wife,

he told her to take her orders as to supper from Melisso, who, seeing

that such was Giosefo's will, briefly gave her his instructions ; whichthe lady, as had been her wont, not only did not obey, but contra-

vened in almost every particular. Which Giosefo marking: — Wastthou not told, quoth he angrily, after what fashion thou wast to

order the supper ? Whereto :— So replied the lady haughtily :

what means this ? If thou hast a mind to sup, why take not thy

supper ? No matter what I was told, 'tis thus I saw fit to order it.

If it like thee, so be it : if not, 'tis thine affair. Melisso heard the

lady with surprise and inward disapprobation : Giosefo retorted :

Ay, wife, thou art still as thou wast used to be ; but I will makethee mend thy manners. Then, turning to Melisso: — Friend,

quoth he, thou wilt soon prove the worth of Solomon's counsel

:

but, prithee, let it not irk thee to look on, and deem that what I shall

do is but done in sport ; and if thou shouldst be disposed to stand in

my way, bear in mind how we were answered by the muleteer,

when we pitied his mule. I am in thy house, replied Melisso,

and thy pleasure is to me law.

Thereupon Giosefo took a stout cudgel cut from an oak sapling,

VOL. II. X



3o6 DECAMERON. [ninth day.

and hied him into the room whither the lady had withdrawn from

the table in high dudgeon, seized her by the hair, threw her on tothe floor at his feet, and fell a beating her amain with the cudgel.

The lady at first uttered a shriek or two, from which she passed to

threats ; but seeing that, for all that, Giosefo slackened not, by the

time she was thoroughly well thrashed, she began to cry him mercy,

imploring him not to kill her, and adding that henceforth his will

should be to her for law. But still Giosefo gave not over, but withever fresh fury dealt her mighty swingeing blows, now about the

ribs, now on the haunches, now over the shoulders ; nor had he

done with the fair lady, until, in short, he had left never a bone or

other part of her person whole, and he was fairly spent. Then,returning to Melisso : — To-morrow, quoth he, we shall see

whether ' Get thee to the Bridge of Geese ' will prove to have been

sound advice or no. And so, having rested a while, and then washedhis hands, he supped with Melisso. With great pain the poor lady

got upon her feet and laid herself on her bed, and having there taken

such rest as she might, rose betimes on the morrow, and craved to

know of Giosefo what he was minded to have to breakfast. Giosefo,

laughing with Melisso over the message, gave her his directions, andwhen in due time they came to breakfast, they found everything

excellently ordered according as it had been commanded : for which

cause the counsel, which they had at first failed to understand, nowreceived their highest commendation.

Some few days later Melisso, having taken leave of Giosefo,

went home, and told a wise man the counsel he had gotten fromSolomon. Whereupon : —'* And no truer or sounder advice could

he have given thee, quoth the sage : thou knowest that thou

lovest never a soul, and that the honours thou payest and the services

thou renderest to others are not prompted by love of them, but bylove of display. Love, then, as Solomon bade thee, and thou shalt

be loved. On such wise was the unruly chastised ; and the young

man, learning to love, was beloved.



NOVEL X.

Dom Gianni at the instance of his gossip Pietro uses an

enchantment to transform Pietro' s wife into a mare ;

6uty when he comes to attach the tail. Gossip Pietro,

by saying that he will have none of the tail, makes

the enchantment of no e^ect.

The queen's story evoked some murmurs from the ladies and

some laughter from the young men ; however, when they weresilent, Dioneo thus began : —Dainty my ladies, a black crow among a

flock of white doves enhances their beauty more than would a white

swan ; and so, when many sages are met together, their ripe wisdomnot only shews the brighter and goodlier for the presence of one

that is not so wise, but may even derive pleasure and diversion there-

from. Wherefore as you, my ladies, are one and all most discreet

and judicious, I, who know myself to be somewhat scant of sense,

should, for that by my demerit I make your merit shew the moreglorious, be more dear to you, than if by my greater merit I eclipsed

yours, and by consequence should have more ample license to reveal

myself to you as I am ; and therefore have more patient sufferance

on your part than would be due to me, were I more discreet, in the

relation of the tale which I am about to tell you, 'Twill be, then,

a story none too long, wherefrom you may gather with what exacti-

tude it behoves folk to observe the injunctions of those that for anypurpose use an enchantment, and how slight an error committedtherein make bring to nought all the work of the enchanter.

A year or so ago there was at Barletu a priest named DomGianni di Barolo, who, to eke out the scanty pittance his church

afforded him, set a pack-saddle upon his mare, and took to going

307



3o8 DECAMERON. [ninth day.

the round of the fairs of Apulia, buying and selling merchandise.

And so it befell that he clapped up a close acquaintance with onePietro da Tresanti, who plied the same trade as he, albeit instead of

a mare he had but an ass ; whom in token of friendship and good-

fellowship Dom Gianni after the Apulian fashion called ever Gossip

Pietro, and had him to his house and there lodged and honourably

entreated him as often as he came to Barletta. Gossip Pietro on his

part, albeit he was very poor and had but a little cot at Tresanti

that scarce sufficed for himself, his fair, young wife, and their ass,

nevertheless, whenever Dom Gianni arrived at Tresanti, made him

welcome, and did him the honours of his house as best he might, in

requital of the hospitality which he received at Barletta. However,

as Gossip Pietro had but one little bed, in which he slept with his

fair wife, 'twas not in his power to lodge Dom Gianni as comfortably

as he would have liked ; but the priest's mare being quartered beside

the ass in a little stable, the priest himself must needs lie beside her

on the straw. Many a time when the priest came, the wife, know-

ing how honourably he entreated her husband at Barletta, would

fain have gone to sleep with a neighbour, one Zita Carapresa di

Giudice Leo, that the priest might share the bed with her husband,

and many a time had she told the priest so : howbeit he would never

agree to it, and on one occasion : — Gossip Gemmata, quoth he,

trouble not thyself about me ; I am well lodged ; for, when I amso minded, I turn the mare into a fine lass and dally with her, and

then, when I would, I turn her back into a mare ; wherefore I could

ill brook to part from her. The young woman, wondering but

believing, told her husband what the priest had said, adding : — If

be is even such a friend as thou sayst, why dost thou not get him

to teach thee the enchantment, so that thou mayst turn me into a

mare, and have both ass and mare for thine occasions ? We should

then make twice as much gain as we do, and thou couldst turn meback into a woman when we came home at night.

Gossip Pietro, whose wit was somewhat blunt, believed that 'twasas she said, approved her counsel, and began adjuring Dom Gianrft,

as persuasively as he might, to teach him the incantation. DomGianni did his best to wean him of his folly ; but as all was in vain :

— Lo, now, quoth he, as you are both bent on it, we will be up,

as is our wont, before the sun to-morrow morning, and I will shew




you how 'tis done. The truth is that 'tis in the attachment of the

tail that the great difficulty lies, as thou wilt sec. Scarce a wink of

sleep had either Gossip Pietro or Gossip Gcmmata that night, so great

was their anxiety ; and towards daybreak up they got, and called

Dom Gianni ; who, being risen, came in his shirt into Gossip Pietro's

little bedroom, and :— I know not, quoth he, that there is

another soul in the world for whom I would do this, save you, mygossips ; however, as you will have it so, I will do it, but it behoves

you to do exactly as I bid you, if you would have the enchantment

work. . They promised obedience, and Dom Gianni thereupon took

a light, which he handed to Gossip Pietro, saying :— Let nought

that I shall do or say escape thee ; and have a care, so thou wouldstnot ruin all, to say never a word, whatever thou mayst see or hear ;

and pray God that the tail may be securely attached. So Gossip

Pietro took the light, and again promised obedience ; Dom Gianni

caused Gossip Gemmata to strip herself stark naked, and stand on all

fours like a mare, at the same time strictly charging her that, what-

ever might happen, she must utter no word. Then, touching her

head and face :— Be this a fine head of a mare, quoth he ; in like

manner touching her hair, he said : — Be this a fine mane of a

mare ; touching her arms :

— Be these fine legs and fine hooves of

a mare j then, as he touched her breast and felt its firm roundness,

and there awoke and arose one that was not called : — And be this

a fine breast of a mare, quoth he j and in like manner he dealt with

her back, belly, croup, thighs, and legs. Last of all, the work being

complete save for the tail, he lifted his shirt and took in his hand the

tool with which he was used to plant men, and forthwith thrust it

into the furrow made for it, saying : — And be this a fine tail of a

mare. Whereat Gossip Pietro, who had followed everything very

heedfully to that point, disapproving that last particular, exclaimed :

— No I Dom Gianni, I'll have no tail, I'll have no tail. Theessential juice, by which all plants are propagated, was already dis-

charged, when Dom Gianni withdrew the tool, saying : — Alas

Gdssip Pietro, what hast thou done ? Did I not tell thee to say never

a word, no matter what thou mightst see ? The mare was all but

made ; but by speaking thou hast spoiled all ; and 'tis not possible to

repeat the enchantment. Well and good, replied Gossip Pietro,

I would have none of that tail. Why saidst thou not to me :




' Make it thou *? And besides, thou wast attaching it too low.

'Twas because, returned Dom Gianni, thou wouldst not have

known, on the first essay, how to attach it so well as I. Where-upon the young woman stood up, and in all good faith said to her

husband : —*' Fool that thou art, wherefore hast thou brought to

nought what had been for the good of us both ? When didst thou

ever see mare without a tail ? So help me God, poor as thou art,

thou deservest to be poorer still. So, after Gossip Pietro's ill-timed

speech, there being no way left of turning the young woman into a

mare, downcast and melancholy she resumed her clothes ; and Gossip

Pietro plied his old trade with his ass, and went with Dom Gianni

to the fair of Bitonto, and never asked him^o to serve him again.What laughter this story drew from the ladies, who understood it

better than Dioneo had wished, may be left to the imagination of

the fair one that now laughs thereat. However, as the stories were

ended, and the sun now shone with a tempered radiance, the queen,

witting that the end of her sovereignty was come, stood up and took

off the crown, and set it on the head of Pamfilo, whom alone it nowremained thus to honour; and said with a smile :

— My lord, 'tis

a great burden that falls upon thee, seeing that thou, coming last, art

bound to make good my shortcomings and those of my predecessors ;

which God give thee grace to accomplish, even as He has given megrace to make thee king. With gladsome acknowledgment of the

honour : — I doubt not, replied Pamfilo, that, thanks to your

noble qualities and those of my other subjects, I shall win even such

praise as those that have borne sway before me. THen, following

the example of his predecessors, he made all meet arrangements in

concert with the seneschal : after which, he turned to the expectant

ladies, and thus spoke :— Enamoured my ladies, Emilia, our queen

of to-day, deeming it proper to allow you an interval of rest to recruit

your powers, gave you license to discourse of such matters as should

most commend themselves to each in turn j and as thereby you are

now rested, I judge that 'tis meet to revert to our accustomed rule.

Wherefore I ordain that for to-morrow you do each of you take

thought how you may discourse of the ensuing theme : to wit, of

such as in matters of love, or otherwise, have done something with

liberality or magnificence. By the telling, and (still more) by the

doing of such things, your spirits will assuredly be duly attuned and



TtMTH rroay.] DECAMERON. 311

animated to emprise high and noble ; whereby our life, which can-

not but be brief, seeing that 'tis enshrined in a mortal body, fameshall perpetuate in glory ; which whoso serves not the belly, as do the

beasts, must not only covet, but with all zeal seek after and labour to

attain.

The gay company having, one and all, approved the theme, rose

at a word from their new king, and betook them to their wonted

pastimes, and so, according as they severally had most lief, diverted

them, until they blithely reunited for supper, which being served

with all due care and despatched, they rose up to dance, as they were

wont, and when they had sung, perhaps, a thousand ditties, fitter to

please by their wordsthan

by anyexcellence of musical art, the king

bade Neifile sing one on her own account. And promptly and

graciously, with voice clear and blithe, thus Neifile sang :

In prime of maidenhood, and fair and feat

'Mid spring's fresh foison chant I merrily:

Thanks be to Love and to my fancies sweet.

As o'er the grassy mead I, glancing, fare,

I mark it white and yellow and vermeil diglit

With flowers, the thorny rose, the lily white

And all alike to his face I compare.

Who, loving, hathme

ta'en, and me shall e'er

Hold bounden to his will, sith I am she

That in his will findeth her joy complete.

Whereof if so it be that I do find

Any that I most like to him approve,

That pluck I straight and kiss with words of love.

Discovering all, as best I may, my mind ;

Yea, all my heart's desire ; and then entwined

I set it in the chaplet daintily,

And with my yellow tresses bind and pleat.

And as mine eyes do drink in the delight

Which the flower yields them, even so my mind.

Fired with his sweet love, doth such solace find)

As he himself were present to the sight:

But never word of mine discover might

That which the flower's sweet smell awakes in me:

Witness the true tale that my sighs repeat.



312 DECAMERON. [ninth dav.

For from my bosom gentle and hot they fly,

Not like the gusty sighs that others heave,Whenas they languish and do sorely grieve

And to my love incontinent they hie

Whereof when he is ware, he, by and by,

To meward hasting, cometh suddenly.

When : —* Lest I faint, I cry, « come, I entreat.

The king and all the ladies did not a little commend Nei file's

song J after which, as the night was far spent, the king bade all go to

rest until the morrow.



Endeth here the ninth day of the Decameron, and

beginneth the tenth, in which, under the rule of

Pantfilo, discourse is had of such as in matters oflove, or otherwise, have done something with liberality

or magnificence.

Some cloudlets in the West still shewed a vermeil flush, albeit

those of the eastern sky, as the sun's rays smote them anear, were

already fringed as with most lucent gold, when uprose Pamfilo, and

roused the ladies and his comrades. And all the company being

assembled, and choice made of the place whither they should betake

them for their diversion, he, accompanied by Filomena and Fiammetta,

led the way at a slow pace, followed by all the rest. So fared they

no little space, beguiling the time with talk of their future way of

life, whereof there was much to tell and much to answer, until, as

the sun gained strength, they returned, having made quite a long

round, to the palace ; and being gathered about the fountain, such as

were so minded drank somewhat from beakers rinsed in its pure

waters ; and then in the delicious shade of the garden they hied themhither and thither, taking their pleasure until breakfast-time. Their

meal taken, they slept as they were wont ; and then, at a spot chosen

by the king, they reassembled, where Neifile, having received his

command to lead the way, blithely thus began.

3«3



NOVEL I.

A knight in the service of the King of Spain deems

himself ill requited. Wherefore the King^ by most

cogent proof shews him that the blame rests not with

him^ but with the knight's own evil fortune ; after

which, he bestows upon him a noble gift.

Highly graced, indeed, do I deem myself, honourable my ladies,

that our king should have given to me the precedence in a matter so

arduous to tell of as magnificence: for, as the sun irradiates all the

heaven with his glory and beauty, even so does magnificence enhance

the purity and the splendour of every other virtue. I shall therefore

tell you a story, which, to. my thinking, is not a little pretty j and

which, assuredly, it must be profitable to call to mind.

You are to know, then, that, among other honourable knights

that from days of old even until now have dwelt in our city, one, and

perchance the worthiest of all, was Messer Ruggieri de' Figiovanni.

Who, being wealthy and magnanimous, reflecting on the customs and

manner of life of Tuscany, perceived that by tarrying there he was

like to find little or no occasion of shewing his mettle, and accordingly

resolved to pass some time at the court of Alfonso, King of Spain,

who for the fame of his high qualities was without a peer among the

potentates of his age. So, being well provided with arms and horses

and retinue suitable to his rank, he hied him to Spain, where he wasgraciously received by the King. There tarrying accordingly, Messer

Ruggieri very soon, as well by the splendid style in which he lived

as by the prodigious feats of arms that he did, gave folk to know his

high desert.

Now, having tarried there some while, and observed the King's

3M




ways with much care, and how he would grant castles, cities, or

baronies, to this, that, or the other of his subjects, he deemed that

the King shewed therein but little judgment, seeing that he would

give them to men that merited them not. And for that nought was

given to him, he, knowing his merit, deemed himself gravely injured

in reputation ; wherefore he made up his mind to depart the realm,

and to that end craved license of the King ; which the King granted

him, and therewith gave him one of the best and finest mules that

was ever ridden, a gift which Mcsser Ruggieri, as he had a long

journey to make, did not a little appreciate. The King then bade

one of his discreet domestics contrive, as best he might, to ride with

Messer Ruggieri on such wise that it might not appear that he didso by the King's comnaand, and charge his memory with whatever

Messer Ruggieri might say of him, so that he might be able to' repeat

it ; which done, he was on the very next morning to bid Ruggieri

return to the King forthwith. The King's agent was on the

alert, and no sooner was Ruggieri out of the city, than without any

manner of difficulty he joined his company, giving out that he was

going towards Italy. As thus they rode, talking of divers matters,

Messer Ruggieri being mounted on the mule given him by the

King :— Methinks, quoth the other, it being then hard upon

tierce, that 'twere well to give the beasts a voidance ; and by and

by, being come to a convenient place, they voided all the beasts save

the mule. Then, as they continued their journey, the squire

hearkening attentively to the knight's words, they came to a river,

and while there they watered the beasts, the mule made a voidance

in the stream. Whereat : — Ah, foul fall thee, beast, quoth

Messer Ruggieri, ** that art even as thy master, that gave thee to me

Which remark, as also many another that fell from Ruggieri as they

rode together throughout the day, the squire stored in his memory ;

but never another word did he hear Ruggieri say touching the King,

that was not laudatory to the last degree.

On the morrow, when they were gotten to horse, and had set

their faces towards Tuscany, the squire apprised Ruggieri of the

King's command, and thereupon Ruggieri turned back. On his

arrival the King, having already heard what he had said touching the

mule, gave him gladsome greeting, and asked him wherefore he had

likened him jto the mule, or rather the mule to him. Whereto



3i6 DECAMERON. [tenth day.

Messer Ruggieri answered frankly : — My lord, I likened you to the

mule, for that, as you bestow your gifts where 'tis not meet, and

where meet it were, bestow them not, so the mule where 'twas meet,

voided not, and where 'twas not meet, voided. Messer Ruggieri,

replied the King, 'tis not because I have not discerned in you a

knight most good and true, for whose desert no gift were too great,

that I have not bestowed on you such gifts as I have bestowed upon

many others, who in comparison of you are nothing worth : the

fault is none of mine but solely of your fortune, which would not

suffer me ; and that this which I say is true, I will make abundantly

plain to you. My lord, returned Messer Ruggieri, mortified

am I, not that you gave me no gift, for thereof I had no desire, beingtoo rich, but that you made no sign of recognition of my desert j

howe^fer, I deem your explanation sound and honourable, and

whatever you shall be pleased that I should see, that gladly will I,

albeit I believe you without attestation.

The King then led him into one of the great halls, in which, by

his preordinance, were two chests closed under lock and key, and, not

a few others being present, said to him : — Messer Ruggieri, one of

these chests contains my crown, sceptre and orb, with many a fine

girdle, buckle, ring, and whatever else of jewellery I possess ; the

other is full of earth : choose then, and whichever you shall choose,

be it yours ; thereby you will discover whether 'tis due to me or to

your fortune that your deserts have lacked requital. Such being the

King's pleasure, Messer Ruggieri chose one of the chests, which at

the King's command being opened and foimd to be that whichcontained the earth :

— Now, Messer Ruggieri, quoth the Kingwith a laugh, your own eyes may warrant you of the truth of whatI say touching Fortune j but verily your merit demands that I take

arms against her in your cause. I know that you are not minded to

t)ecome a Spaniard, and therefore I shall give you neither castle nor

city ; but that chest, which Fortune denied you, I bestow on you in

her despite, that you may take it with you to your own country, andthere with your neighbours justly vaunt yourself of your deserts,

attested by my gifts. Messer Ruggieri took the chest, and having

thanked the King in a manner befitting such a gift, returned there-

with, well pleased, to Tuscany.



NOVEL II.

Ghino di Tacco captures the Abbot of Chiny^ cures him ofa disorder of the stomachy and releases him. Theabboty on his return to the court of Rome, reconciles

Ghino with Pope Boniface, and makes him prior ofthe Hospital.

When an end was made of extolling the magnificence shewn by

King Alfonso towards the Florentine knight, the king, who had

listened to the story with no small pleasure, bade Elisa follow suit

and forthwith Elisa began : —Dainty my ladies, undeniable it is that

for a king to be magnificent, and to entreat magnificently one that

has done him service, is a great matter, and meet for commendation.

What then shall we say when the tale is of a dignitary of the Churchthat shewed wondrous magnificence towards one whom he might

well have entreated as an enemy, and not have been blamed by a

soul ? Assuredly nought else than that what in the king was virtue

was in the prelate nothing less than a miracle, seeing that for super-

lative greed the clergy, one and all, outdo us women, and wage warto the knife upon every form of liberality. And albeit all men are

by nature prone to avenge their wrongs, 'tis notorious that the clergy,

however they may preach longsufi^ering, and commend of all things

the forgiving of trespasses, are more quick and hot to be avenged

than the rest of mankind. Now this, to wit, after what manner a

prelate shewed magnificence, will be made manifest to you in mystory.

Ghino di Tacco, a man redoubtable by reason of his truculence

and his high-handed deeds, being banished from Siena, and at enmity

with the Counts of Santa Fiore, raised Radicofani in revolt against

3»7



31 DECAMERON. [tenth day.

the Church of Rome, and there abiding, harried all the surrounding

country with his soldiers, plundering all wayfarers. Now PopeBoniface VIII. being at Rome, there came to court the Abbot

of Cluny, who is reputed one of the wealthiest prelates in the

world ; and having there gotten a disorder of the stomach, he was

advised by the physicians to go to the baths of Siena, where (they

averred) he would certainly be cured. So, having obtained the

Pope's leave, reckless of the bruit of Ghino's exploits, he took the

road, being attended by a great and well-equipped train of sumpter-

horses and servants. Ghino di Tacco, getting wind of his approach,

spread his nets to such purpose as without the loss of so much as a

boy to surround the abbot, with all his servants and effects, in a

strait pass, from which there was no exit. Which done, he sent

one of his men, the cunningest of them all, with a sufficient retinue to

the abbot, who most lovingly on Ghino's part besought the abbot to

come and visit Ghino at the castle. Whereto the abbot, very wroth,

made answer that he would none of it, for that nought had he to do

with Ghino j but that he purposed to continue his journey, and

would fain see who would hinder him. Sir, returned the envoy,

assuming a humble tone, you are come to a part of the country

where we have no fear of aught save the might of God, and where

excommunications and interdicts are one and all under the ban ;

wherefore you were best be pleased to shew yourself agreeable to

Ghino in this particular. As they thus spoke, Ghino's soldiers

shewed themselves on every side, and it being thus manifest to the

abbot that he and his company were taken prisoners, he, albeit

mightily incensed, suffered himself with all his train and effects to be

conducted by the envoy to the castle ; where the abbot, being

alighted, was lodged in a small and very dark and discomfortable

room, while his retinue, according to their several conditions, were

provided with comfortable quarters in divers parts of the castle, the

horses well stabled and all the effects secured, none being in any

wise tampered with. Which done, Ghino hied him to the abbot,and : — Sir, quoth he, Ghino, whose guest you are, sends me to

entreat you to be pleased to inform him of your destination, and the

purpose of your journey. The abbot, vailing his pride like a wise

man, told whither he was bound and for what purpose. WhereuponGhino left him, casting about how he might cure him without a



SECOND 8TORV.] DECAMERON. 319

bath. To which end he kept a great fire ever burning in the little

chamber, and had it closely guarded, and returned not to the abbotuntil the ensuing morning, when he brought him in a spotless napkin

two slices of toast and a great beaker of vernaccia of Corniglia, being

of the abbot's own vintage; and :— Sir, quoth he to the abbot,

Ghino, as a young man, made his studies in medicine, and avers that

he then learned that there is no better treatment for disorder of the

stomach than that which he will aflbrd you, whereof the matters

that I bring you are the beginning j wherefore take them and be of

good cheer.

The abbot, being far too hungry to make many words about the

matter, ate (albeit in high dudgeon) the toast, and drank the vernac-

cia ; which done, he enlarged on his wrongs in a high tone, with

much questioning and perpending ; and above all he demanded to see

Ghino. Part of what the abbot said Ghino disregarded as of nosubstance, to other part he replied courteously enough ; and having

assured him that Ghino would visit him as soon as might be, he took

his leave of him ; nor did he return until the morrow, when he

brought him toast and vernaccia in the same quantity as before;

and so he kept him several days : then, having marked that the

abbot had eaten some dried beans that he had secretly brought andleft there of set purpose, he asked him in Ghino's name how he

felt in the stomach. Were I but out of Ghino's hands, replied the

abbot, ** I should feel myself well, indeed : next to which, I desire

most of all a good breakfast, so excellent a cure have his medicines

wrought on me. Whereupon Ghino caused the abbot's servants to

furnish a goodly chamber with the abbot's own effects, and there

on the morrow make ready a grand banquet, at which all the abbot's

suite and not a few of the garrison being assembled, he hied him to

the abbot, and :— Sir, quoth he, 'tis time you left the infirmary,

seeing that you now feel yourself well ; and so saying, he took himby the hand, and led him into the chamber made ready for him, and

having left him there with his own people, made it his chief concernthat the banquet should be magnificent. The abbot's spirits revived

as he found himself again among his men, with whom he talked a

while, telling them how he had been entreated, wherewith thev

contrasted the signal honour which they, on the other hand, had,

one and all, received from Ghino.




Breakfast-time came, and with order meet the abbot and the

rest were regaled with good viands and good wines, Ghino still

suffering not the abbot to know who he was. But when the abbot

had thus passed several days, Ghino, having first had all his effects

collected in a saloon, and all his horses, to the poorest jade, in the

courtyard below, hied him to the abbot and asked him how he felt,

and if he deemed himself strong enough to ride. The abbot replied

that he was quite strong enough, and that 'twould be well indeed

with him, were he once out of Ghino's hands. Ghino then led himinto the saloon in which were his effects and all his retinue, and

having brought him to a window, whence he might see all his horses

:

— Sir Abbot, quoth he, you must know that 'tis not for that he

has an evil heart, but because, being a gentleman, he is banished from

his home, and reduced to poverty, and has not a few powerful enemies,

that in defence of his life and honour, Ghino di Tacco, whom you see

before you, has become a robber of highways and an enemy to the

court of Rome. But such as I am, I have cured you of your malady

of the stomach, and taking you to be a worthy lord, I purpose not to

treat you as I would another, from whom, were he in my hands, as

you are, I should take such part of his goods as I should think fit j

but I shall leave it to you, upon consideration of my need, to assign

to me such portion of your goods as you yourself shall determine.

Here are they before you undiminished and unimpaired, and fromthis window you may see your horses below in the courtyard j

wherefore take the part or take the whole, as you may see fit, and

be it at your option to tarry here, or go hence, from this hour forth.

The abbot marvelled to hear a highway robber speak thus

liberally, and such was his gratification that his wrath and fierce

resentment departed from him, nay, were transformed into kindness,

insomuch that in all cordial amity he hasted to embrace Ghino,

saying : — By God I swear, that to gain the friendship of a man such

I now deem thee to be, I would be content to suffer much greater

wrong than that which until now, meseemed, thou hadst done me.Cursed be Fortune that constrains thee to ply so censurable a trade.

Which said, he selected a very few things, and none superfluous,

from his ample store, and having done likewise with the horses, ceded

all else to Ghino, and hied him back to Rome ; where, seeing him,

the Pope, who to his great grief had heard of his capture, asked him



NOVEL III.

Mttridanes^ holding Nathan in despite by reason of his

courtesy^ journeys with intent to kill him, and falling

in with him unawares, is advised by him how to

compass his end. Following his advice, he finds him

in a copse, and recognizing him, is shame-stricken,

and becomes his frietid.

Verily like to a miracle seemed it to all to hear that a prelate had

done aught with magnificence ; but when the ladies had made an end

of their remarks, the king bade Filostrato follow suit ; and forthwith

Filostrato began : —Noble ladies, great was the magnificence of the

King of Spain, and perchance a thing unheard-of the magnificence

of the Abbot of Cluny ; but peradventure 'twill seem not a whit less

marvellous to you to hear of one who, to shew liberality towards

another, did resolve artfully to yield to him his blood, nay, his very

life, for which the other thirsted, and had so done, had the other

chosen to take them, as I shall shew you in a little story.

Beyond all question, if we may believe the report of certain

Genoese, and other folk that have been in those regions, there dwelt

of yore in the parts of Cathay one Nathan, a man of noble lineage

and incomparable wealth. Who, having a seat hard by a road, by

which whoso vvould travel froiM the West eastward, or from the East

westward, must needs pass, and being magnanimous and liberal, andzealous to approve himself such in act, did set on work cunning

artificers not a few, and cause one of the finest and largest and most

luxurious palaces that ever were seen, to be there builded and

furnished in the goodliest manner with all things meet for the

reception and honourable entertainment of gentlemen. And so,

322




keeping a great array of excellent servants, he courteously and

hospitably did the honours of his house to whoso came and went : in

which laudable way of life he perseverec^ until not only the East, but

well-nigh all the West had heard his fame ; which thus, what time

he was well-stricken in years, albeit not for that cause grown weary

of shewing courtesy, reached the ears of one Mitridanes, a young manof a country not far distant. Who, knowing himself to be no less

wealthy than Nathan, grew envious of the renown that he had of his

good deeds, and resolved to obliterate, or at least to obscure it, by a

yet greater liberality. So he had built for himself a palace like that

of Nathan, of which he did the honours with a lavish courtesy that

none had ever equalled, to whoso came or went that way j and verilyin a short while he became famous enough.

Now it so befell that on a day when the young man was all alone

in the courtyard of the palace, there came in by one of the gates a

poor woman, who asked of him an alms, and had it ; but, not content

therewith, came again to him by the second gate, and asked another

alms, and had it, and after the like sort did even unto the twelfth

time; but, she returning for the thirteenth time: — My good

woman, quoth Mitridanes, thou art not a little pertinacious in thy

begging : howbeit he gave her an alms. Whereupon :— Ah

the wondrous liberality of Nathan quoth the beldam : thirty-two

gates are there to his palace, by every one of which I have entered,

and asking alms of him, was never —for aught he shewed —recog-

nized, or refused, and here, though I have entered as yet by but

thirteen gates, I am recognized and reprimanded. And therewith

she departed, and returned no more. Mitridanes, who accounted

the mention of Nathan's fame an abatement of his own, was kindled

by her words with a frenzy of wrath, and began thus to communewith himself: —Alas I when shall I attain to the grandeur of

Nathan's liberality, to say nought of transcending it, as I would fain,

seeing that in the veriest trifles I cannot approach him ? Of a surety

my labour is in vain, if I rid not the earth of him : which, since old

age relieves me not of him, I must forthwith do with mine ownhands. And in the flush of his despite up he started, and giving

none to know of his purpose, got to horse with a small company,

and after three days arrived at the place where Nathan abode ; and

having enjoined his comrades to make as if they were none of his.



3^4 DECAMERON, [tenth day.

and knew him not, and to go quarter themselves 9s best they might

until they had his further orders, he, being thus alone, towards

evening came upon Nathan, also alone, at no great distance from

his splendid palace. Nathan was recreating himself by a walk, and

was very simply clad ; so that Mitridanes, knowing him not, asked

him if he could shew him where Nathan dwelt. My son, replied

Nathan gladsomely, that can none in these parts better than I

wherefore, so it please thee, I will bring thee thither. The youngman replied that 'twould be mighty agreeable to him, but that, if so

it might be, he had a mind to be neither known nor seen by Nathan. And herein also, returned Nathan, since 'tis thy pleasure, I will

gratifythee. Whereupon Mitridanes dismounted, and with Nathan,

who soon engaged him in delightsome discourse, walked to the

goodly palace. Arrived there Nathan caused one of his servants

take the young man's horse, and drawing close to him, bade himin a whisper to see to it without delay that none in the house should

tell the young man that he was Nathan : and so ' twas done.

Being come into the palace, Nathan quartered Mitridanes in a

most goodly chamber, where none saw him but those whom he had

appointed to wait upon him ; and he himself kept him company,

doing him all possible honour. » Of whom Mitridanes, albeit he

reverenced him as a father, yet, being thus with him, forbore not to

ask who he was. Whereto Nathan made answer : — I am a petty,

servant of Nathan : old as I am, I have been with him since mychildhood, and never has he advanced me to higher office than this

wherein thou seest me : wherefore, howsoever other folk may praise

him, little cause have I to do so. Which words afforded Mitridanes

some hope of carrying his wicked purpose into effect with more of

plan and less of risk than had otherwise been possible. By and by

Nathan very courteously asked him who he was, and what business

brought him thither ; offering him such counsel and aid as he might

be able to afford him. Mitridanes hesitated a while to reply : but

at last he resolved to trust him, and when with no little circumlocu-tion he had demanded of him fidelity, counsel and aid, he fully

discovered to him who he was, and the purpose and motive of his

coming thither. Now, albeit to hear Mitridanes thus unfold his

horrid design caused Nathan no small inward commotion, yet 'twas

not long before courageously and composedly he thus made answer ;




Noble was thy father, Mitridanes, and thou art minded to shew

thyself not unworthy of him by this lofty emprise of thine, to wit,

of being liberal to all comers : and for that thou art envious of

Nathan's merit 1 greatly commend thee ; for were many envious

for a like cause, the world, from being a most wretched, would soon

become a happy place. Doubt not that I shall keep secret the

design which thou hast confided to me, for the furtherance whereof

'tis good advice rather than substantial aid that I have to offer thee.

Which advice is this. Hence, perhaps half a mile off, thou mayst

see a copse, in which almost every morning Nathan is wont to wallc,

talcing his pleasure, for quite a long while : 'twill be an easy matter

for thee to find him there, and deal with him as thou mayst beminded. Now, shouldst thou slay him, thou wilt get thee home with

less risk of let, if thou take not the path by which thou camest

hither, but that which thou seest issue from the copse on the left,

for, though 'tis somewhat more rough, it leads more directly to thy

house, and will be safer for thee.

Possessed of this information, Mitridanes, when Nathan had left

him, privily apprised his comrades, who were likewise lodged in the

palace, of the place where they were to await him on the ensuing

day ; which being come, Nathan, inflexibly determined to act in all

respects according to the advice which he had given Mitridanes,

hied him forth to the copse unattended, to meet his death. Mitri-

danes, being risen, took his bow and sword, for other arms he had

none with him, mounted his horse, and rode to the copse, through

which, while he was yet some way off, he saw Nathan passing, quite

alone. And being minded, before he fell upon him, to see his face

and hear the sound of his voice, as, riding at a smart pace, he came

up with him, he laid hold of him by his head-gear, exclaiming :

Greybeird, thou art a dead man. Whereto Nathan answered

nought but : — Then 'tis but my desert. But Mitridanes, hearing

the voice, and scanning the face, forthwith knew him for the same

man that had welcomed him heartily, consorted with him familiarly,

and counselled him feithfully ; whereby his wrath presently subsided,

and gave place to shame. Wherefore, casting away the sword that

he held drawn in act to strike, he sprang from his horse, and weeping,

threw himself at Nathan's feet, saying : —*' Your liberality, dearest

father, I acknowledge to be beyond all question, seeing with what

craft you did plot your coming hither to yield me your life, for




which, by mine own avowal, you knew that I, albeit cause I had

none, did thirst. But God, more regardful of my duty than I

myself, has now, in this moment of supreme stress, opened the eyes

of my mind, that wretched envy had fast sealed. The prompter

was your compliance, the greater is the debt of penitence that I owe

you for my fault; wherefore wreak even such vengeance upon meas you may deem answerable to my transgression. But Nathan

raised Mitridanes to his feet, and tenderly embraced him, saying :

My son, thy enterprise, howsoever thou mayst denote it, whether

evil or otherwise, was not such that thou shouldst crave, or I give,

pardon thereof; for 'twas not in malice -t)ut in that thou wouldst

fain have been reputed better than I that thou ensuedstit.

Doubtthen no more of me ; nay, rest assured that none that lives bears

thee such love as I, who know the loftiness' of thy spirit, bent not

to heap up wealth, as do the caitiffs, but to dispense in bounty thine

accumulated store. Think it no shame that to enhance thy reputa-

tion thou wouldst have slain me ; nor deem that I marvel thereat.

To slay not one man, as thou wast minded, but countless multitudes,

to waste whole countries with fire, and to raze cities to the ground

has been well-nigh the Sole art, by which the mightiest emperors and

the greatest kings have extended their dominions, and by consequence

their fame. Wherefore, if thou, to increase thy fame, wouldst fain

have slain me, 'twas nothing marvellous or strange, but wonted.

Whereto Mitridanes made answer, not to excuse his wicked

design, but to commend the seemly excuse found for it by Nathan,

whom at length he told how beyond measure he marvelled that

Nathan had not only been consenting to the enterprise, but had

aided him therein by his counsel. But Nathan answered :— Liefer

had I, Mitridanes, that thou didst not marvel either at my consent

or at my counsel, for that, since I was my own master and of a mind

to that emprise whereon thou art also bent, never a soul came to myhouse, but, so far as in me lay, I gave him all that he asked of me.

Thou camest, lusting for my life ; and so, when I heard thee crave

it of me, I forthwith, that thou mightst not be the only guest to

depart hence ill content, resolved to give it thee ; and to that end I

gave thee such counsel as I deemed would serve thee both to the

taking of my life and the preservation of thine own. Wherefore

yet again I bid thee, nay, I entreat thee, if so thou art minded, to

take it for thy satisfaction : I know not how I could better bestow




it. I have had the use of it now for some eighty years, and

pleasure and solace thereof; and I know that, by the course of

Nature and the common lot of man and all things mundane, it can

continue to be mine for but a little whde ; and so I deem that 'twere

much better to bestow it, as I have ever bestowed and dispensed mywealth, than to keep it, until, against my will, it be reft from me by

Nature. 'Twere but a trifle, though 'twere a hundred years : howinsignificant, then, the six or e ight years that are all I have to give I

Take it, then, if thou hadst lief, take it, I pray thee ; for, long as

I have lived here, none have I found but thee to desire it ; nor knowI when I may find another, if thou take it not, to demand it of me.

And if, peradventure, I should find one such, yet I know that thelonger I keep it, the less its worth will be ; wherefore, ere it be thus

cheapened, take it, I implore thee.

Sore shame-stricken, Mitridanes made answer : — Now Godforefend that I should so much as harbour, as but now I did, such a

thought, not to say do such a deed, as to wrest from you a thing

so precious as your life, the years whereof, so far from abridging, I

would gladly supplement with mine own. So then, rejoined

Nathan promptly, thou wouldst, if thou couldst, add thy years to

mine, and cause me to serve thee as I never yet served any man, to

wit, to take from thee that which is thine, I that never took aught

from a soul ** Ay, that would I, returned Mitridanes. Then,

quoth Nathan, do as I shall bid thee. Thou art young : tarry

here in my house, and call thyself Nathan ; and I will get me to

thy house, and ever call myself Mitridanes. Whereto Mitridanes

made answer: — Were I but able to discharge this trust, as you

have been and are, scarce would I hesitate to accept your offer ; but,

as too sure am I that aught that I might do would but serve to

lower Nathan's fame, and I am not minded to mar that in another

which I cannot mend in myself, accept it I will not.

After which and the like interchange of <lelectable discourse,

Nathan and Mitridanes, by Nathan's desire, returned to the palace

where Nathan for some days honourably entreated Mitridanes, and

by his sage counsel confirmed and encouraged him in his high and

noble resolve ; after which, Mitridanes, being minded to return

home with his company, took his leave of Nathan, fully persuaded

that 'twas not possible to surpass him in liberality.



NOVEL IV.

Messer Gentile de* Carisendi, being come from Modena,

disinters a lady that he loves, who has been buried for

dead. She, being reanimated, gives birth to a malechild ; and Messer Gentile restores lier^ with her son,

to Niccoluccio Caccianimico, her husband.

A THING marvellous seemed it to all that for liberality a manshould be ready to sacrifice his own life ; and herein they averred

that Nathan had without doubt left the King of Spain and the Abbot

pf Cluny behind. However, when they had discussed the matter

diversely and at large, the king, bending his regard on Lauretta,

signified to her his will that she should tell ; and forthwith^ accordingly,

Lauretta began:

—Goodly matters are they and magnificent thathave been recounted to you, young ladies ; nay, so much .of our

field of discourse is already filled by their grandeur, that for us that

are yet to tell, there is, methinlcs, no room left, unless we seek our

topic there where matter of discourse germane to every theme does

most richly abound, to wit, in the affairs of love. For which cause,

as also for that our time of life cannot but make us especially,

inclinable thereto, I am minded that my story shall be of a feat ot

magnificence done by a lover : which, all things considered, will,

peradventure, seem to you inferior to none that have been shewn

you ; so it be true that to possess the beloved one, men will part

with their treasures, forget their enmities, and jeopardize their ownlives, their honour and their reputation, in a thousand ways.

Know, then, that at Bologna, that most famous city of Lombardy,

there dwelt a knight, Messer Gentile Carisendi by name, worshipful

alike for his noble lineage and his native worth : who in his youth,

328




being enamoured of a young gentlewoman named Madonna Catalina,

wife of one Niccoluccio Caccianimico, and well-nigh despairing, for

thax the lady gave him but a sorry requital of his love, betook him

to Modena, being called thither as Podcstii. Now what time he

was there, Niccoluccio being also away from Bologna, and his lady

gone, for that she was with child, to lie in at a house she had some

three miles or so from the city, it befell that she was suddenly

smitten with a sore malady of such and so virulent a quality that it

left no sign of life in her, so that the very physicians pronounced her

dead. And for that the women that were nearest of kin to her

professed to have been told by her, that she was not so far gone in

pregnancy that the child could be perfectly formed, they, withoutmore ado, laid her in a tomb in a neighbouring church, and after

long lamentation closed it upon her.

Whereof Messer Gentile being forthwith apprised by one of his

friends, did, for all she had been most niggardly to him of her favour,

grieve not a little, and at length fell a communing with himself on

this wise : —So, Madonna Catalina, thou art dead While thou

livedst, never a glance of thine might I have ; wherefore, now that

thou art dead, 'tis but right that I go take a kiss from thee. 'Twasnight while he thus mused ; and forthwith, observing strict secrecy

in his departure, he got him to horse with a single servant,and

halted not until he was come to the place where the lady was interred

and having opened the tomb he cautiously entered it. Then, having

lain down beside her, he set his face against hers; and again and

again, weeping profusely the while, he kissed it. But as 'tis matter

of common knowledge that the desires of men, and more especially

of lovers, know no bounds, but crave ever an ampler satisfaction ;

even so Messer Gentile, albeit he had been minded to tarry there

no longer, now said to himself : —Wherefore touch I not her bosom

a while ? I have never yet touched it, nor shall I ever touch it

again. Obeying which impulse, he laid his hand on her bosom, and

keeping it there some time, felt, as he thought, her heart faintly

beating. Whereupon, banishing all fear, and examining the body

with closer attention, he discovered that life was not extinct, though

he judged it but scant and flickering : and so, aided by his servant,

he bore her, as gently as he might, out of the tomb ; and set her

before him upon his horse, and brought her privily to his house at




Bologna, where dwelt his wise and worthy mother, who, being fully-

apprised by him of the circumstances, took pity on the lady, and had

a huge fire kindled, and a bath made ready, whereby she restored

her to life. Whereof the first sign she gave was to heave a great

sigh, and murmur :—*' Alas I where am I ? To which the worthy

lady made answer :— Be of good cheer ; thou art well lodged.'*

By and by the lady, coming to herself, looked about her j and finding

herself she knew not where, and seeing Messer Gentile before her,

was filled with wonder, and besought his mother to tell her how she

came to be there.

Messer Gentile thereupon told her all. Sore distressed thereat,

the lady, after a while, thanked him as best she might ; after whichshe besought him by the love that he had borne her, and of his

courtesy, that she might, while she tarried in his house, be spared

aught that could impair her honour and her husband's ; and that at

daybreak he would suffer her to return home. Madam, replied

Messer Gentile, however I did affect you in time past, since Godin His goodness has, by means of the love I bore you, restored you

to me alive, I mean not now, or at any time hereafter, to entreat

you either here or elsewhere, save as a dear sister ; but yet the

service I have to-night rendered you merits some guerdon : and

therefore lief had I that you deny me not a favour which I shall ask

of you. Whereto the lady graciously made answer that she would

be prompt to grant it, so only it were in her power, and consonant

with her honour. Said then Messer Gentile :— Your kinsfolk,

Madam, one and all, nay, all the folk in Bologna are fully persuaded

that you are dead : there is therefore none to expect you at home

;

wherefore the favour I crave of you is this, that you will be pleased

to tarry privily here with my mother, until such time —which will

be speedily —as I return from Modena. And 'tis for that I purpose

to make solemn and joyous donation of you to your husband in

presence of the most honourable folk of this city that I ask of you

this grace. Mindful of what she owed the knight, and witting

that what he craved was seemly, the lady, albeit she yearned not a

little to gladden her kinsfolk with the sight of her in the flesh, con-

sented to do as Messer Gentile besought her, and thereto pledged

him her faith. And scarce had she done so, when she felt that the

hour of her travail was come ; and so, tenderly succoured by Messer




Gentile's mother, she not long after gave birth to a fine boy. Whichevent did mightily enh.nnce her own and Messer Gentile's happiness.

Then, having made all meet provision for her, and left word that

she was to be tended as if she were his own wife, Messer Gentile,

observing strict secrecy, returned to Modena.

His time of office there ended, in anticipation of his return to

Bologna, he appointed for the morning of his arrival in the city a

great and goodly banquet at his house, whereto were bidden not a

few of the gentlemen of Bologna, and among them Niccoluccio

Caccianimico. Whom, when he was returned and dismounted, he

found awaiting him, as also the lady, fairer and more healthful than

ever, and her little son doing well ; and so with a gladness beyondcompare he ranged his guests at table, and regaled them with manya course magnificently served. And towards the close of the feast,

having premonished the lady of his intention, and concerted with

her how she should behave, thus he spoke : — Gentlemen, I mind

me to have once heard tell of (as I deem it) a delightsome custom

which they have in Persia j to wit, that, when one would do his

friend especial hoifbur, he bids him to his house, and there shews him

that treasure, be it wife, or mistress, or daughter, or what not, that

he holds most dear ; assuring him that yet more gladly, were it

possible, he would shew him his heart. Which custom I am mindedto observe here in Bologna. You, of your courtesy, have honoured

my feast with your presence, and 1 propose to do you honour in the

Persian fashion, by shewing you that which in all the world I do,

and must ever, hold most dear. But before I do so, tell me, I pray

you, how you conceive of a nice question that I shall lay before you.

Suppose that one has in his house a good and most faithful servant,

who falls sick of a grievous disorder ; and that the master tarries not

for the death of the servant, but has him borne out into the open

street, and concerns himself no more with him : that then a stranger

comes by, is moved to pity of the sick man, and takes him to his

house, and by careful tendance and at no small cost restores him to

his wonted health. Now I would fain know whether the first

master has in equity any just cause to complain of or be aggrieved

with the second master, if he retain the servant in his employ, and

refuse to restore him, when so required.

The gentlemen discussed the matter after divers fiishions, and

k




all agreed in one sentence, which they committed to Niccoluccio

Caccianimico, for that he was an eloquent and accomplished speaker,

to deliver on the part of them all. Niccoluccio began by commending

the Persian custom : after which he said that he and the others were

all of the same opinion, to wit, that the first master had no longer

any right in his servant, since he had not only abandoned but cast

him forth ; and that by virtue of the second master's kind usage of

him he must be deemed to have become his servant ; wherefore, by

keeping him, he did the first master no mischief, no violence, no

wrong. Whereupon the rest that were at the table said, one and all,

being worthy men, that their judgment jumped with Niccoluccio's

answer.The

knight, well pleased with the answer, and that 'twas

Niccoluccio that gave it, affirmed that he was of the same opinion j

adding :— 'Tis now time that I shew you that honour which I

promised you. He then called two of his servants, and sent them

to the lady, whom he had caused to be apparelled and adorned with

splendour, charging them to pray her to be pleased to come and

gladden the gentlemen with her presence. So she, bearing in her

arms her most lovely little son, came, attended by the two servants,

into the saloon, and by the knight's direction, took a seat beside a

worthy gent'eman : whereupon :— Gentlemen, quoth the knight,

this is the treasure that I hold, and mean ever to hold, more dear

than aught else. Behold, and judge whether I have good cause.

The gentlemen said not a little in her honour and praise, averring

that the knight ought indeed to hold her dear : then, as they

regarded her more attentively, there were not a few that would have

pronounced her to be the very woman that she was, had they not

believed that woman to be dead. But none scanned her so closely as

Niccoluccio, who, the knight being withdrawn a little space, could

no longer refrain his eager desire to know who she might be, but

asked her whether she were of Bologna, or from other parts. Thelady, hearing her husband's voice, could scarce forbear to answer j

but yet, not to disconcert the knight's plan, she kept silence.

Another asked her if that was her little boy ; and yet another, if she

were Messer Gentile's wife, or in any other wise his connection. Tonone of whom she vouchsafed an answer. Then, Messer Gentile

coming up : — Sir, quoth one of the guests, this treasure of

yours is goodly indeed ; but she seems to be dumb : is she so ?




Gentlemen, quoth Mcsser Gentile, that she has not as yet spokenis no small evidence of her virtue. Then tell us, you, who she

is, returned the other. ** That, quoth the knight, will I right

gladly, so you but promise rne, that, no matter what I may say, noneof you will stir from his place, until I have ended my story. All

gave the required promise, and when the tables had been deared,

Messer Gentile, being seated beside the lady, thus spoke :

Gentlemen, this lady is that loyal and faithful servant, touching

whom a brief while ago I propounded to you my question, whom her

own folk held none too dear, but cast out into the open street as a

thing vile and no longer good for aught, but I took thence, and by

my careful tendance wrested from the clutch of death ; whom God,regardful of my good will, has changed from the appalling aspect of

a corpse to the thing of beauty that you see before you. But for

your fuller understanding of this occurrence, I will briefly explain it

to you. He then recounted to them in detail all that had happened

from his first becoming enamoured of the lady to that very hour ;

whereto they hearkened with no small wonder ; after which :

And so, he added, unless you, and more especially Niccoluccio,

are now of another opinion than you were a brief while ago, the

lady rightly belongs to me, nor can any man lawfully reclaim her

of me.

None answered, for all were intent to hear what more he would

say. But, while Niccoluccio, and some others that were there, wept

for sympathy, Messer Gentile stood up, and took the little boy in his

arms and the lady by the hand, and approached Niccoluccio, saying :

Rise, my gossip : I do not, indeed, restore thee thy wife, whom thy

kinsfolk and hers cast forth ; but I am minded to give thee this lady,

my gossip, with this her little boy, whom I know well to be thy son,

and whom I held at the font, and named Gentile : and I pray thee that

she be not the less dear to thee for that she has tarried three months

in my house ; for I swear to thee by that God, who, peradventure,

ordained that I should be enamoured of her, to the end that my love

might be, as it has been, the occasion of her restoration to life, that

never with her father, or her mother, or with thee, did she live more

virtuously than with my mother in my house. Which said, he

turned to the lady, saying :— Madam, I now release you from all

promises made to me, and so deliver you to Niccoluccio. Then,




leaving the lady and the child in Niccoluccio's embrace, he returned

to his seat.

Thus to receive his wife and son was to Niccoluccio a delight

great in the measure of its remoteness from his hope. Wherefore in

the most honourable terms at his command he thanked the knight,

whom all the rest, weeping for sympathy, greatly commended for

what he had done, as did also all that heard thereof. The lady,

welcomed home with wondrous cheer, was long a portent to the

Bolognese, who gazed on her as on one raised from the dead.

Messer Gentile lived ever after as the friend of Niccoluccio, and his

and the lady's kinsfolk.

Now what shall be your verdict, gracious ladies ?

Aking's largess,

though it was of his sceptre and crown, an abbot's reconciliation,

at no cost to himself, of a malefactor with the Pope, or an old man's

submission of his throat to the knife of his enemy —will you adjudge

that such acts as these are comparable to the deed of Messer Gentile ?

Who, though young, and burning with passion, and deeming himself

justly entitled to that which the heedlessness of another had discarded,

and he by good fortune had recovered, not only tempered his ardour

with honour, but having that which with his whole soul he had long

been bent on wresting from another, did with liberality restore it.

Assuredly none of the feats aforesaid seem to me like unto this.



NOVEL V.

Madonna Dianora craves of Messer Ansaldo a garden

that shall be as fair in 'January as in May. Messer

Ansaldo binds himself to a necromancer^ and thereby

gives her the garden. Her husband gives her leave

to do Messer Ansaldo s pleasure : he^ being apprised

of her husband's liberality^ releases her from her

promise ; and the necromancer releases Messer Ansaldo

from his bond^ and will take nought of his.

Each of the gay company had with superlative commendation

extolled Messer Gentile to the skies, when the king bade Emilia

follow suit } and with a good courage, as burning to speak, thus

Emilia began : —Delicate my ladies, none can justly say that 'twas

not magnificently done of Messer Gentile ; but if it be alleged that

'twas the last degree of magnificence, 'twill perchance not be

difficult to shew that more was pos^ble, as is my purpose in the little

story that I shall tell you.

In Friuli, a country which, though its air is shrewd, is pleasantly

diversified by fine mountains and not a few rivers and clear

fountains, is a city called Udine, where dwelt of yore a fair and

noble lady. Madonna Dianora by name, wife of a wealthy grandee

named Giliberto, a very pleasant gentleman, and debonair. Nowthis lady, for her high qualities, was in the last degree beloved bya great and noble baron, Messer Ansaldo Gradense by name, a

man of no little consequence, and whose fame for feats of arms and

courtesy was spread far and wide. But, though with all a lover's

ardour he left nought undone that he might do to win her love, and

to that end frequently plied her with his ambassages, 'twas all in

335




vain. And the lady being distressed by his importunity, and ihat,

refuse as she might all that he asked of her, he none the less

continued to love her and press his suit upon her, bethought her how^

she might rid herself of him by requiring of him an extraordinary

and, as she deemed, impossible feat. So one day, a wotmn that cameoftentimes from him to her being with her : — Good v^^oman,

quoth she, thou hast many a time affirmed that Messer Ansaldo

loves me above all else ; and thou hast made profFer to me on his

part of wondrous rich gifts which I am minded he keep to himself ,

for that I could never bring myself to love him or pleasure him for

their sake ; but, if I might be certified that he loves me as

much as thou sayst, then without a doubt I should not fail to love

him, and do his pleasure ; wherefore, so he give me the assurance

that I shall require, I shall be at his command. **What is it,

Madam, returned the good woman, that you would have him do ?

This, replied the lady. ; I would have this next ensuing January,

hard by this city, a garden full of green grass and flowers and

flowering trees, just as if it were May ; and if he caimot provide mewith this garden, bid him never again send either thee or any other

to me, for that, should he harass me any further, I shall no longer

keep silence, as I have hitherto done, but shall make my complaint

to my husband and all my kinsmen, and it shall go hard but I will be

quit of him.

The gentleman being apprised of his lady's stipulation and

promise, notwithstanding that he deemed it no easy matter, nay, a

thing almost impossible, to satisfy her, and knew besides that 'twas

but to deprive him of all hope that she made the demand, did never-

theless resolve to do his endeavour to comply with it, and causing

search to be made in divers parts of the world, if any he might find

to afford him counsel or aid, he lit upon one, who for a substantial

reward offered to do the thing by necromancy. So Messer Ansaldo,

having struck the bargain with him for an exceeding great sum of

money, gleefully expected the appointed time. Which being comewith extreme cold, insomuch that there was nought but snow and

ice, the adept on the night before the calends of January wrought

with his spells to such purpose fhat on the morrow, as was averred by

eye-witnesses, there appeared in a meadow hard by the city one of

the most beautiful gardens that was ever seen, with no lack of grass



FIFTH 8TORY.] DECAMERON. 337

and trees nnd fruits of (ill sorts. At sight whereof Mestcr Ansaldo

was overjoyed, and caused some of the finest fruits and flowers that

it contained to be gathered, and privily presented to his lady, whomhe bade come and see the garden that she had craved, that thereby

she might have assurance of his love, and mind her of the promise

that she had given him and confirmed with an oath, and, as a loyal

lady, take thought for its performance. When she saw the flowers

and fruits, the lady, who had already heard not a few folk speak of

the wondrous garden, began to repent her of her promise. But for

all that, being fond of strange sights, she hied her with many other

ladies of the city to see the garden, and having gazed on it with

wonderment, and commended it not a little, she went home thesaddest woman alive, bethinking her to what it bound her : and so

great was her distress that she might not well conceal it ; but, being

written on her face, 'twas marked by her husband, who was mindedby all means to know the cause thereof.

The lady long time kept silence : but at last she yielded to his

urgency, and discovered to him the whole matter from first to last.

Whereat Giliberto was at first very wroth j but on second thoughts,

considering the purity of the lady's purpose, he was better advised,

and dismissing his anger :— Dianora, quoth he, 'tis not the act

of a discreet or virtuous lady to give ear to messages of such a sort,

nor to enter into any compact touching her chastity with any manon any terms. Words that the ears convey to the heart have a

potency greater than is commonly supposed, and there is scarce

aught that lovers will not find possible. 'Twas then ill done of thee

in the first instance to hearken, as afterwards to make the compact;

but, for that I know the purity of thy soul, that thou mayst be quit

of thy promise, I will grant thee that which, perchance, no other manwould grant, being also swayed thereto by fear of the necromancer,

whom Messer Ansaldo, shouldst thou play him felse, might, perad-

venture, cause to do us a mischief. I am minded, then, that thou

go to him, and contrive, if on any wise thou canst, to get thee quit of

this promise without loss of virtue ; but if otherwise it may not be,

then for the nonce thou mayst yield him thy body, but not thy souL

Whereat the lady, weeping, would none of such a favour at her

husband's hands. But* Giliberto, for all the lady's protestations, was

minded that so it should be,

VOL. II. z



NOVEL VL

King Charles the Old, being conqueror, falls in love with

a young maiden, and afterward growing ashamed ofhis folly bestows her and her sister honourably in

marriage.

Who might fully recount with what diversity of argument the

ladies debated which of the three, Giliberto, or Messer Ansaldo, or

the necromancer, behaved with the most liberality in the affair of

Madonna Dianora ? Too long were it to tell. However, when the

king had allowed them to dispute a while, he, with a glance at

Fiammetta, bade her rescue them from their wrangling by telling her

story. Fiammetta made no demur, but thus began :

—Illustrious myladies, I have ever been of opinion that in companies like ours one

should speak so explicitly that the import of what is said should

never by excessive circumscription afford matter for disputation;

which is much more in place among students in the schools, than

among us, whose powers are scarce adequate to the management of

the distaff and the spindle. Wherefore I, that had in mind a matter

of, perchance, some nicety, now that I see you all at variance

touching the matters last mooted, am minded to lay it aside, and

tell you somewhat else, which concerns a man by no means of slight

account, but a valiant king, being a chivalrous action that he did,

albeit in no wise thereto actuated by his honour.

There is none of you but may not seldom have heard tell of KingCharles the Old, or the First, by whose magnificent emprise, and the

ensuing victory gained over King Manfred, the Ghibellines were driven

forth of Florence, and the Guelfs returned thither. For which cause a

knight, Messer Neri degh Uberti by name, departing Florence with

340



SIXTH STORY,] DECAMERON. 341

his household and not a little money, resolved to fix his abode under no

other sway than that of King Charles. And being fain of a lonelyplace in which to end his days in peace, he betook him to Castello

da Mare di Stabia ; and there, perchance a cross-bow-shot fi-om the

other houses of the place, amid the olives and hazels and chestnuts

that abound in those parts, he bought an estate, on which he built a

goodly house and commodious, with a pleasant garden beside it, in the

midst of which, having no lack of running water, he set, after our

Florentine fashion, a pond fair and clear, and speedily filled it with

fish. And while thus he lived, daily occupying himself with nought

else but how to make his garden more fair, it befell that King

Charles in the hot season betook him to Castello da Mare to refresh

himself a while, and hearing of the beauty of Messer Neri's garden,

was desirous to view it. And having learned to whom it belonged,

he bethought him that, as the knight was an adherent of the party

opposed to him, he would use more familiarity towards him than he

would otherwise have done ; and so he sent him word that he and

four comrades would sup privily with him in his garden on the

ensuing evening. Messer Neri felt himself much honoured ; and

having made his preparations with magnificence, and arranged the

order of the ceremonies with his household, did all he could and

knew to make the King cordially welcome to his fair garden.

When the King had viewed the garden throughout, as also Messer

Neri's house, and commended them, he washed, and seated himself at

one of the tables, which were set beside the pond, and bade Count

Guy de Montfort, who was one of his companions, sit on one side

of him, and Messer Neri on the other, and the other three to

serve, as they should be directed by Messer Neri. The dishes that

were set before them were dainty, the wines excellent and rare, the

order of the repast very fair and commendable, without the least

noise or aught else that might distress j whereon the King bestowed

no stinted praise. As thus he gaily supped, well-pleased with the

lovely spot, there came into the garden two young maidens, eachperhaps fifteen years old, blonde both, their golden tresses falljjig all

in ringlets about them, and crowned with a dainty garland of

periwinkle-flowers ; and so delicate and fair of face were they that

they shewed liker to angels than aught else, each clad in a robe of

finest linen, white as snow upon their flesh, close-fitting as might b«




from the waist up, but below the waist ample, like a pavilion to the

feet. She that was foremost bore on her shoulders a pair of nets,which she held with her left hand, carrying in her right a long pole.

Her companion followed, bearing on her left shoulder a frying-pan,

under her left arm a bundle of faggots, and in her left hand a tripod,

while in the other hand she carried a cruse of oil and a lighted taper.

At sight of whom the King marvelled, and gazed intent to learn

what it might import. The two young maidens came forward with

becoming modesty, and did obeisance to the King ; which done they

hied them to the place of ingress to the pond, and she that had the

frying-pan, having set it down, and afterward the other things, took

the pole that the other carried, and so they both went down into the

pond, being covered by its waters to their breasts. Whereupon one

of Mess* Neri's servants, having forthwith lit a fire, and set the tripod

on the faggots and oil therein, addressed himself to wait, until somefish should be thrown to him by the girls. Who, the one searching

with the pole in those parts where she knew the fish lay hid, while

the other made ready the nets, did in a brief space of time, to the

exceeding great delight of the King, who watched them attentively,

catch fish not a few, which they tossed to the servant, who set them,

before the life was well out of them, in the frying-pan. After

which, the maidens, as pre-arranged, addressed them to catch some

of the finest fish, and cast them on to the table before the King, andCount Guy, and their father. The fish wriggled about the table to

the prodigious delight of the King, who in like manner took someof them, and courteously returned them to the girls ; with whichsport they diverted them, until the servant had cooked the fish that

had been given him : which, by Messer Neri's command, were set

before the King rather as a side-dish than as aught very rare or

delicious.

When the girls saw that all the fish were cooked, and that there

was no occasion for them to catch any more, they came forth of the

pond, their fine white garments cleaving everywhere close to their*flesh so as to hide scarce any part of their delicate persons, took upagain the things that they had brought, and passing modestly before

the King, returned to the house. The King, and the Count, and

the other gentlemen that waited, had regarded the maidens with nolittle attention, and had, one and all, inly bestowed on them no little




praise, as being fair and shapely, and therewithal sweet and debonair;

but 'twas in the King's eyes that they especially found favour.

Indeed, as they came forth of the water, the King had scanned each

part of their bodies so intently that, had one then pricked him, he

would not have felt it, and his thoughts afterwards dwelling upon

them, though he knew not who they were, nor how they came to

be there, he felt stir within his heart a most ardent desire to pleasure

them, whereby he knew very well that, if he took not care, he

would grow enamoured ; howbeit he knew not whether of the

twain pleased him the more, so like was each to the other. Having

thus brooded a while, he turned to Messer Neri, and asked who the

two damsels were. Whereto :

— Sire, replied Messer Neri,

theyare my twin daughters, and they are called, the one, Ginevra the Fair,

and the other, Isotta the Blonde. Whereupon the King was loud

in praise of them, and exhorted Messer Neri to bestow them in

marriage. To which Messer Neri demurred, for that he no longer

had the means. And nought of the supper now remaining to serve,

save the fruit, in came the two young damsels in gowns of taffeta

very fine, bearing in their hands two vast silver salvers full of divers

fruits, such as the season yielded, and set them on the table before

the King. Which done, they withdrew a little space and fell a

singing to music a ditty, of which the opening words were as

follows :

Love, many words would not suffice

There where I am come to tell.

And so dulcet and delightsome was the strain that to the King,

his eyes and ears alike charmed, it seemed as if all the nine orders

of angels were descended there to sing. The song ended, they

knelt and respectfully craved the King's leave to depart ; which,

though sorely against his will, he gave them with a forced gaiety.

Supper ended, the King and his companions, having remounted

their horses, took leave of Messer Neri, and conversing of divers

matters, returned to the royal quarters ; where the King, still harbour-

ing his secret passion, nor, despite affairs of state that supervened,

being able to forget the beauty and sweetness of Ginevra the Fair,

for whose sake he likewise loved her twin sister, was so limed by

Love that he could scarce think of aught else. So, feigning other




reasons, he consorted familiarly with Messer Neri, and did much

frequent his garden, that he might see Ginevra. And at length,

being ujiable to endure his suffering any longer, and being minded,

for that he could devise no other expedient, to despoil their father not

only of the one but of the other damsel also, he discovered both his

love and his project to Count Guyj w^ho, being a good man and true,

thus made answer : — Sire, your tale causes me not a little astonish-

ment, and that more especially because of your conversation from

your childhood to this very day, I have, methinks, known more than

any other man. And as no such passion did I ever mark in you,

even in your youth, when Love should more readily have fixed youwith his fangs, as now I discern, when you are already on the

verge of old age, 'tis to me so strange, so surprising that youshould veritably love, that I deem it little short of a miracle. Andwere it meet for me to reprove you, well wot I the language I should

hold to you, considering that you are yet in arms in a realm but

, btely won, among a people as yet unknown to you, and wily and

treacherous in the extreme, and that the gravest anxieties andmatters of high policy engross your mind, so that you are not

as yet able to sit you down, and nevertheless amid all these weighty

concerns you have given harbourage to false, flattering Love. Thisis not the wisdom of a great king, but the folly of a feather-pated

boy. And moreover, what is far worse, you say that you are

resolved to despoil this poor knight of his two daughters, whom,entertaining you in his house, and honouring you to the best of his

power, he brought into your presence all but naked, testifying

thereby, how great is his faith in you, and how assured he is that

you are a king, and not a devouring wolf. Have you so soon for-

gotten that 'twas Manfred's outrageous usage of his subjects that

opened you the way into this realm ? What treachery was he ever

guilty of that better merited eternal torment, than 'twould be in youto wrest from one that honourably entreats you at once his hope and

his consolation ? What would be said of you if so you should do ?

Perchance you deem that 'twould suffice to say :— * I did it becausehe is a Ghibelline.' Is it then consistent with the justice of a kingthat those, be they who they may, who seek his protection, as this

man has sought yours, should be entreated after this sort ? King, I

bid you remember that exceeding great as is your glory to have




vanquished Manfred, yet to conquer oneself is a still greater glory :

wherefore you, to whom belongs the correction of others, see to it

that you conquer yourself, and refrain this unruly passion ; and let

not such a blot mar the splendour of your achievements.

S6re stricken at heart by the Count's words, and the more

mortified that he acknowledged their truth, the King heaved a

fervent sigh or two, and then :— Count, quoth he, that enemy

there is none, however mighty, but to the practised warrior is weak

enough and easy to conquer in comparison of his own appetite, I

make no doubt ; but, great though the struggle will be and im-

measurable the force that it demands, so shrewdly galled am I by

your words, that not many days will have gone by before I shallwithout fail have done enough to shew you that I, that am the

conqueror of others, am no less able to gain the victory over myself.

And indeed but a few days thereafter, the King, on his return to

Naples, being minded at once to leave himself no excuse for dis-

honourable conduct, and to recompense the knight for his honourable

entreatment of him, did, albeit 'twas hard for him to endow

another with that which he had most ardently desired for himself,

none the less resolve to bestow the two damsels in marriage, and that

not as Messcr Neri's daughters, but as his own. Wherefore, Messer

Neri consenting, he provided both with magnificent dowries, and

gave Ginevra the Fair to Messer MafFeo da Palizzi, and Isotta the

Blonde to Messer Guglielmo della Magna, noble knights and great

barons both ; which done, sad at heart beyond measure, he betook

him to Apulia, and by incessant travail did so mortify his vehement

appetite that he snapped and broke in pieces the fetters of Love, and

for the rest of his days was no more vexed by such passion.

Perchance there will be those who say that 'tis but a trifle for

a king to bestow two girls in marriage ; nor shall I dispute it : but

say we that a king in love bestowed in marriage her whom he loved,

neither having taken nor taking, of his love, leaf or flower or fruit

then this I say was a feat great indeed, nay, as great as might be.

After such a sort then did this magnificent King, at once

generously rewarding the noble knight, commendably honouring

the damsels that he loved, and stoutly subduing himself.



NOVEL VII.

King Pedro, being apprised of the fervent love borne him

by Lisa, who thereof is sick, comforts her, and forth-

with gives her in marriage to a young gentleman, and

having kissed her on the brow, ever after professes

himself her knight.

When Fiammetta was come to the end of her story, and

not a little praise had been accorded to the virile magnificence

of King Charles, albeit one there was of the ladies, who, being a

Ghibelline, joined not therein, Pampinea, having received the king's

command, thus began : —None is there of discernment, worshipful

my ladies, that would say otherwise than you have said touching

good King Charles, unless for some other cause she bear him a

grudge ; however, for that there comes to my mind the, perchance

no less honourable, entreatment of one of our Florentine girls by one

of his adversaries, I am minded to recount the same to you.

What time the French were driven forth of Sicily there dwelt

at Palermo one of our Florentines, that was an apothecary, Bernardo

Puccini by name, a man of great wealth, that by his lady had an

only and exceeding fair daughter, then of marriageable age. NowKing Pedro of Arragon, being instated in the sovereignty of the

island, did at Palermo make with his barons marvellous celebration

thereof; during which, as he tilted after the Catalan fashion, it

befell that Bernardo's daughter, Lisa by name, being with other

ladies at a window, did thence espy him in the course, whereat being

prodigiously delighted, she regarded him again and again, and grewfervently enamoured of him ; nor yet, when the festivities wereEnded, and she was at home with her father, was there aught she

346




could think of but this her exalted and aspiring love. In regard

whereof that which most irked her was her sense of her low rank,which scarce permitted her any hope of a happy issue j but, for all

that, give over her love for the King she would not j nor yet, for

fear of worse to come, dared she discover it. The King, meanwhile,

recking, witting nothing of the matter, her suffering waxed im-

measurable, intolerable ; and her love ever growing with ever fresh

accessions of melancholy, the fair maiden, overborne at last, fell sick,

and visibly day by day wasted like snow in sunlight. Distraught

with grief thereat, her father and mother afforded her such succour

as they might with words of good cheer, and counsel of physicians,

and physic ; but all to no purpose;

for that she in despair of her

love was resolved no more to live.

Now her father assuring her that there was no whim of hers but

should be gratified, the fancy took her that, if she might find apt

means, she would, before she died, make her love and her resolve

known to the King : wherefore one day she besought her father to

cause Minuccio d'Arezzo to come to her ; which Minuccio was a

singer and musician of those days, reputed most skilful, and well seen

of King Pedro. Bernardo, deeming that Lisa desired but to hear

him play and sing a' while, conveyed her message to him ; and he,

being an agreeable fellow, came to her forthwith, and after giving her

some words of loving cheer, sweetly discoursed some airs upon his

viol, and then sang her some songs j whereby, while he thought to

comfort her, he did but add fire and flame to her love. Presently

the girl said that she would fain say a few words to him in private,

and whrn all else were withdrawn from the chamber : — Minuccio,

quoth she, thee have I chosen, deeming thee most trusty, to be the

keeper of my secret, relying upon thee in the first place never to

betray it to a soul, and next to lend me in regard thereof such aid as

^hou mayst be able ; and so I pray thee to do. Thou must know,

then, Minuccio mine, that on the day when our lord King Pedro

held the great festival in celebration of his triumph, I, seeing himtilt, was so smitten with love of him that thereof was kindled within

my soul the fire which has brought nie, as thou seest, to this pass ;

and knowing how ill it beseems me to love a king, and being unable,

I say not to banish it from my heart, but so much as to bring it

within bounds, and finding it exceeding grievous to bear, I have



34^ DECAMERON. [tenth day.

made choice of death as the lesser pain ; and die I shall. But should

he wot not of my love before I die, sore disconsolate should I depart j

and knowing not by whom more aptly than by thee I might give

him to know this my frame, I am minded to entrust the communica-

tion thereof to thee ; which office I entreat thee not to refuse, and

having discharged it, to let me know, that dying thus consoled, I maydepart this pain. Which said, she silently wept.

Marvelling at the loftiness of the girl's spirit and her desperate

determination, Minuccio commiserated her not a little; and presently

it occurred to him that there was a way in which he might honour-

ably serve her : wherefore :—'' Lisa, quoth he, my faith I plight

thee, wherein thou mayst place sure confidence that I shall never

play thee false, and lauding thy high emprise, to wit, the setting thine

affections upon so great a king, I proffer thee mine aid, whereby,

so thou wilt be of good cheer, I hope, and believe, that, before thou

shalt see the third day from now go by, I shall have brought thee

tidings which will be to thee for an exceeding great joy ; and, not

to lose time, I will set to work at once, And so Lisa, assuring

him that she would be of good cheer, and plying him afresh with

instant obsecrations, bade him Godspeed j and Minuccio, having

taken leave of her, hied him to one Mico da Siena, a very expert

rhymester of those days, who at his instant request made the ensuing

song :

Hence hie thee, Love ; and hasting to my King,

Give him to know what torment dire I bear,

How that to death 1 fare,

Still close, for fear, my passion harbouring.

Lo, Love, to thee with claspM hands I turn,

And pray thee seek him where he tarrieth, ^

And tell him how I oft for him do yearn,

So sweetly he my heart enamoureth ;

And of the fire, wherewith I throughly burn,

I think to die, but may the hour uneath

Say, when my grievous pain shall with my breath

Surcease ; till when, neither may fear nor shame

The least abate the flame.

Ah to his ears my woeful s tory br ing.



siriNTH rroRY.] DECAMERON. 349

Since of him I wm first enamoured,

Never hart thou, O Love, my fearful heart

With any tuch fond hope encouraged,

As e'er its nteuage to him to impart,

To him, my lord, that me so sore bested

Holds: dying thus, ' twere grievous to depart:

Perchance, were he to know my cruel smart,

'T would not displease him ; might I but make bold

My soul to him to unfold,

And shew him all my woeful languish bg.

Love, since 'twas not thy will me to accord'

Such boldness as that e'er unto my King

I may discover my sad heart's full hoard.

Or any word or sign thereof him bring

:

This all rtiy prayer to thee, O sweet my Lord:

Hie thee to him, and so him whispering

Mind of the day I saw him tourneying

With all his paladins environed.

And grew enamoured

Ev'n to my very heart's disrupturing.

Which wordsMinuccio forthwith set to music after a soft and

plaintive fashion befitting their sense ; and on the third day there-

after hied him to court, while King Pedro was yet at breakfast .

And being bidden by the King to sing something to the accompani-

ment of his viol, he gave them this song with such sweet concord oF

words and music that all the folk that were in the King's hall seemed,

as it were, entranced, so intent and absorbed stood they to listen,

and the King rather more than the rest. And when Minuccio had

done singing, the King asked whence the song came, that, as far as

he knew, he had never heard it before. Sire, replied Minuccio, 'tis not yet three days since 'twas made, words and music alike.

And being asked by the King in regard of whom 'twas made :

I dare not, quoth he, discover such a secret save to you alone.

Bent on hearing the story, the King, when the tables were cleared,

took Minuccio into his privy chamber j and there Minuccio told

him everything exactly as he had heard it from Lisa's lips. Wherebythe King was much gratified, and lauded the maiden not a little, and




said that a girl of such high spirit merited considerate treatment, and

bade Minuccio be his envoy to her, and comfort her, and tell her

that without fail that very day at vespers he w^ould come to visit her.

Overjoyed to bear the girl such gladsome tidings, Minuccio tarried

not, but hied him back to the girl w^ith his viol, and being closeted

with her, told her all that had passed, and then sang the song to the

accompaniment of his viol. Whereby the girl was so cheered and

delighted that forthwith there appeared most marked and manifest

signs of the amendment of her health, while with passionate longing

(albeit none in the house knew or divined it) she awaited the vesper

hour, when she was to see her lord.

Knowing the girl very well, and how fair she was, and ponderingdivers times on what Minuccio had told him, the King, being a prince

of a liberal and kindly disposition, grew ever more compassionate.

So, about vespers, he mounted his horse, and rode forth, as if for

mere pleasure, and being come to the apothecary's house, demandedaccess to a very goodly garden that the apothecary had, and having

dismounted, after a while enquired of Bernardo touching his

daughter, and whether he had yet bestowed her in marriage. Sire,

replied Bernardo, she is not yet married ; and indeed she has been

and still is very ill : howbeit since none she is wonderfully amended.

The significance of which amendment being forthwith apprehended

by the King : — In good faith, quoth he, 'twere a pity so fair

a creature were reft from the world so early ; we would go in and

visit her. And presently, attended only by two of his lords andBernardo, he betook him to her chamber, where being entered,

he drew nigh the bed, whereon the girl half reclined, half sate in

eager expectation of his coming j and taking her by the hand :

Madonna, quoth he, what means this? A maiden like youshould be the comfort of others, and you suffer yourself to languish.

We would entreat you that for love of us you be of good cheer, so

as speedily to recover your health. To feel the touch of his hand

whom she loved above all els?, the girl, albeit somewhat shamefast,

was so enraptured that 'twas as if she was in Paradise ; and as soon

as she was able : — My lord, she said, 'twas the endeavour, weakas I am, to sustain a most grievous burden that brought this sickness

upon me j but 'twill not be long ere you will see me quit thereof,

thanks to your courtesy. The hidden meaning of which words




was apprehended only by the King, who momently made more

account of the girl, and again and again inly cursed Fortune, that had

decreed that she should be the daughter of such a man. And yet a

while he tarried with her, and comforted her, and so took his leave.

Which gracious behaviour of the King was not a little commended,and accounted a signal honour to the apothecary and his daughter.

The girl, glad at heart as was ever lady of her lover, mended

with reviving hope, and in a few days recovered her health, and

therewith more than all her wonted beauty. Whereupon the King,

having taken counsel with the Queen how to reward so great a love,

got him one day to horse with a great company of his barons, and

hied him to the apothecary's house; and being come into the garden,he sent for the apothecary and his daughter ; and there, being joined

by the Queen with not a few ladies, who received the girl into their

company, they made such cheer as 'twas a wonder to see. Andafter a while the King and Queen having called Lisa to them, quoth

the King : — Honourable damsel, by the great love that you have

borne us we are moved greatly to honour you ; and we trust that,

for love of us, the honour that we design for you will be acceptable

to you. Now 'tis thus we would honour you : to wit, that, seeing

that you are of marriageable age, we would have you take for

husband him that we shall give you ; albeit 'tis none the less our

purpose ever to call ourself your knight, demanding no other tribute

of all your love but one sole kiss. Scarlet from brow to neck,

the girl, making the King's pleasure her own, thus with a low

voice replied :— My lord, very sui^e am I that, should it come to

be known that I was grown enamoured of you, most folk would hold

me for a fool, deeming, perchance, that I was out of my mind, and

witless alike of my own rank and yours j but God, who alone reads

the hearts of us mortals, knows that even then, when first I did

affect you, I wist that you were the King, and I but the daughter of

Bernardo the apothecary, and that to suffer my passion to soar so

high did ill become me ; but, as you know far better than I, none

loves of set and discreet purpose, but only according to the dictates

of impulse and ftincy j which law my forces, albeit not seldom

opposed, being powerless to withstand, I loved and still love and

shall ever love you. But as no sooner knew I myself subjugated to

your love, than I vowed to have ever no will but yours j therefore not




only am I cotnpliant to take right gladly him whom you shall be

pleased to give me for husband, thereby conferring upon me great

honour and dignity ; but if you should bid me tarry in the fire,

delighted were I to obey, so thereby I might pleasure you. Howfar it beseems me to have you, my King, for my knight, you best

know ; and therefore I say nought thereof ; nor will the kiss which

you crave as your sole tribute of my love be granted you save by

leave of my Lady the Queen. Natheless, may you have of this

great graciousness that you and my Lady the Queen have shewn

me, and which I may not requite, abundant recompense in the blessing

and favour of God j and so she was silent.

The Queen was mightily delighted with thegirl's

answer, anddeemed her as discreet as the King had said. The King then sent

for the girl's father and mother, and being assured that his intention

had their approval, summoned to his presence a young man, Perdicone

by name, that was of gentle birth, but in poor circumstances, and

put certain rings into his hand, and (he nowise gainsaying) wedded

him to Lisa. Which done, besides jewels many and precious that

he and the Queen gave the girl, he forthwith bestowed upon Perdi-

cone two domains, right goodly and of ample revenues, to wit,

CefFalu and Calatabellotta, saying : — We give them to thee for thy

wife's dowry ; what we have in store for thee thou wilt learn here-

after. Which said, he turned to the girl, and : — Now, quoth

he, we are minded to cull that fruit which is due to us of thy

love ; and so, taking her head between both his hands, he kissed her

brow. Wherefore, great was ?he joy of Perdicone, and the father

and mother of Lisa, and Lisa herself, and mighty the cheer they

made, and gaily did they celebrate the nuptials. And, as manyaffirm, right well did the King keep his promise to the girl ; for that

ever, while he lived, he called himself her knight, nor went to any

passage of arms bearing other device than that which he had

from her.

Now 'tis by doing after this sort that sovereigns win the hearts

of their subjects, give others occasion of well-doing, and gain for

themselves an imperishable renown. At which mark few or none in

our times have bent' the bow of their understanding, the more part

of the princes having become but cruel tyrants.



NOVEL VIII.

Sophronia^ albeit she deems herself wife to Gisippus^ is

wifeto Titus ^intius Fuivus, and goes with him to

Rome, where Gisippus arrives in indigence, and deem-

ing himself scorned by Titus, to compass his own death,

avers that he has slain a man. Titus recognizes

him, and to save his life, alleges that ^twas he that

slew the man : whereof he that did the deed being

witness, he discovers himself as the murderer. JV here-

by it comes to pass that they are all three liberated by

Octavianus ; and Titus gives Gisippus his sister to

wife, and shares with him all his substance.

So ceased Pampinea; and when all the ladies, and most of all

the GhibelHne, had commended King Pedro, Filomena by commandof the king thus began : —Magnificent my ladies, who wots not

that there is nought so great but kings, when they have a mind, mayaccomplish it ? As also that 'tis of them that magnificence is most

especially demanded ? Now whoso, being powerful, does that which

it appertains to him to do, does well ; but therein is no such matter of

marvel, or occasion of extolling him to the skies, as in his deed, of

whom, for that his power is slight, less is demanded. Wherefore, as

you are so profuse of your words in exaltation of the fine deeds, as

you deem them, of monarchs, I make no manner of doubt, but that the

doings of our peers must seem to you yet more delectable and com-

mendable, when they equal or surpass those of kings. Accordingly

*tis a transaction, laudable and magnificent, that passed between twoVOL. 11. 353 A A




citizens, who were friends, that I purpose to recount to you in mystory.

I say, then, that what time Octavianus Caesar, not as yet hight

Augustus, but being in the office called Triumvirate, swayed the

empire of Rome, there dwelt at Rome a gentleman, Publius Quintius

Fulvus by name, .who, having a son, Titus Quintius Fulvus, that

was a very prodigy of wit, sent him to Athens to study philosophy,

and to the best of his power commended him to a nobleman of that

city, Chremes by name, who was his very old friend. Chremes

lodged Titus in his own house with his son Gisippus, and placed

both Titus and Gisippus under a philosopher named Aristippus, to

learn of him his doctrine. And the two youths, thus keeping

together, found each the other's conversation so congruous with his

own, that there grew up between them a friendship so close and

brotherly that 'twas never broken by aught but death; nor kneweither rest or solace save when he was with the other. So, gifted

alike with pre-eminent subtlety of wit, they entered on their studies,

and with even pace and prodigious applause scaled together the

glorious heights of philosophy. In which way of life, to the exceed-

ing great delight of Chremes, who entreated Titus as no less his son

than Gisippus, they continued for full three years. At the end

whereof, it befell (after the common course of things mundane) that

Chremes (being now aged) departed this life. Whom with equal

grief they mourned as a common father ; and the friends and kinsfolk

of Chremes were alike at a loss to determine whether of the twain

stood in need of the more consolation upon the bereavement.

Some months afterward the friends and kinsfolk of Gisippus cameto him and exhorted him, as did also Titus, to take a wife, and found

him a maiden, wondrous fair, of one of the most noble houses of

Athens, her name Sophronia, and her age about fifteen years. So a

time was appointed for their nuptials, and one day, when 'twas near

at hand, Gisippus bade Titus come see the maiden, whom as yet he

had not seen ; and they being come into her house, and she sittingbetwixt them, Titus, as he were fain to observe with care the several

charms of his friend's wife that was to be, surveyed her with the

closest attention, and being delighted beyond measure with all that

he saw, grew, as inly he extolled her charms to the skies, enamoured

of her with a love as ardent, albeit he gave no sign of it, as ever lover




bore to lady. However, after they had tarried a while with her,

tliey took their leave, and went home, where Titus repaired to his

chamber, and there gave himself over to solitary musing on the

damsel's charms, and the longer he brooded, the more he burned for

iier. Whereon as he reflected, having heaved many a fervent sigh,

thus he began to commune with himself: —Ah woe worth thy

life, Titus Whom malccst thou the mistress of thy soul, thy

love, thy hope ? Knowest thou not that by reason as well of thy

honourable entreatment by Chremes and his kin as of the whole-

hearted friendship that is between thee and Gisippus, it behoves thee

to have his betrothed in even such pious regard as if she were thy

sister ? Whither art thou suffering beguiling love, delusive hope, tohurry thee ? Open the eyes of thine understanding, and see thyself,

wretched man, as thou art ; obey the dictates of thy reason, refrain thy

carnal appetite, control thine inordinate desires, and give thy thoughts

another bent ; join battle with thy lust at the outset, and conquer

thyself while there is yet time. This which thou wouldst have is

not meet, is not seemly : this which thou art minded to ensue, thou

wouldst rather, though thou wert, as thou art not, sure of its attain-

ment, eschew, hadst thou but the respect thou shouldst have, for the

claims of true friendship. So, then, Titus, what wilt thou do ?

What but abandon this unseenily love, if thou wouldst do as it

behoves thee ?

But then, as he remembered Sophronia, his thoughts took the

contrary direction, and he recanted all he had said, musing on this

wise : —The laws of Love are of force above all others ; they abro-

gate not only the law of human friendship, but the law Divine

itself. How many times ere now has father loved daughter, brother

sister, step-mother step-son ? aberrations far more notable than that a

friend should love his friend's wife, which has happened a thousand

times. Besides which, I am young, and youth is altogether subject

to the laws of Love. Love's pleasure, then, should be mine. Theseemly is for folk of riper years. 'Tis not in my power to will aught

save that which Love wills. So beauteous is this damsel that there

is none but should love her ; and if I love her, who am young, whocan justly censure me ? I love her not because she is the affianced

of Gisippus ; no matter whose she was, I should love her all the

same. Herein is Fortune to blame, that gave her to my friend.




Gisippus, rather than to another. And if she is worthy of love, as

for beauty she is, Gisippus, if he should come to know that I love

her, ought to be less jealous than another.

Then, scorning himself that he should indulge such thoughts, herelapsed into the opposing mood, albeit not to abide there, but ever

veering to and fro, he spent not only the whole of that day and the

ensuing night, but many others ; insomuch that, being able neither

to eat nor to sleep, he grew so weak that he was fain to take to his

bed. Gisippus, who had marked his moodiness for some days, and

now saw that he was fairly sick, was much distressed ; and witii

sedulous care, never quitting his side, he tended, and strove as best

he might to comfort, him, not seldom and most earnestly demandingto know of him the cause of his melancholy and his sickness. Manywere the subterfuges to which Titus resorted ; but, as Gisippus wasnot to be put off with his fables, finding himself hard pressed by him,

with sighs and sobs he made answer on this wise :— Gisippus, had

such been the will of the Gods, I were fain rather to die than to

live, seeing that Fortune has brought me to a strait in which needs

must my virtue be put to the ordeal, and, to my most grievous

shame, 'tis found wanting : whereof I confidently expect my due

reward, to wit, death, which will be more welcome to me than to

live, haunted ever by the memory of my baseness, which, as there is

nought that from thee I either should or can conceal, I, not without

burning shame, will discover to thee. And so he recounted the

whole story from first to last, the occasion of his melancholy, its

several moods, their conflict, and with which of them the victory

rested, averring that he was dying of love for Sophronia, and that,

knowing how ill such love beseemed him, he had, for penance, elected

to die, and deemed the end was now not far off. Gisippus, hearing

his words and seeing his tears, for a while knew not what to say,

being himself smitten with the damsel's charms, albeit in a less degree

than Titus ; but ere long he made up his mind that Sophronia must

be less dear to him than his friend's life.

And so, moved to tears by his friend's tears : — Titus, quoth

he between his sobs, but that thou art in need of comfort, I should

reproach thee, that thou hast offended against our friendship in that

thou hast so long kept close from me this most distressful passion ;

and albeit thou didst deem it unseemly, yet unseemly things should




no more than things seemly be withheld from a friend, for that, as a

friend rejoices with his friend in things seemly, so he does his en-

deavour to wean his friend from things unseemly : but enough of this

for the nonce : I pass to that which, I wot, is of greater moment. If

thou ardently lovest Sophronia, my affianced, so far from marvelling

thereat, I shoujd greatly marvel were it not so, knowing how fair

she is, and how noble is thy soul, and thus the apter to be swayed bypassion, the more excelling is she by whom thou art charmed. Andthe juster the cause thou hast to love Sophronia, the greater is the

injustice with which thou complainest of Fortune (albeit thou dost it

not in so many words) for giving her to me, as if thy love of her had

been seemly, had she belonged to any other but me ; whereas, if thouart still the wise man thou wast wont to be, thou must know that to

none could Fortune have assigned her, with such good cause for thee

to thank her, as to me. Had any other had her, albeit thy love had

been seemly, he had loved her as his own, rather than as thine

which, if thou deem me even such a friend to thee as I am, thou wilt

not apprehend from me, seeing that I mind me not that, since wewere friends, I had ever aught that was not as much thine as mine.

And so should I entreat thee herein as in all other matters, were the

affair gone so far that nought else were possible ; but as it is, I can

make thee sole possessor of her j

andso I

meanto

do ;for

I knownot what cause thou shouldst have to prize my friendlhip, if, wherein seemly sort it might be done, I knew not how to surrender mywill to thine. 'Tis true that Sophronia is my betrothed, and that I

loved her much, and had great cheer in expectation of the nuptials :

but as thou, being much more discerning than I, dost more fervently

affect this rare prize, rest assured that she will enter my chamber not

mine but thine. Wherefore, away with thy moodiness, banish thy

melancholy, recover thy lost health, thy heartiness and jollity, andgladsomely, even from this very hour, anticipate the guerdon of thy

love, a love worthier far than mine.

Delightful as was the prospect with which hope flattered Titus,

as he heard Gisippus thus speak, no less was the shame with whichright reason affected him, admonishing him that the greater was the

liberality of Gisippus, the less it would become him to profit thereby.

Wherefore, still weeping, he thus constrained himself to makeanswer :

— Gisippus, thy generous and true friendship leaves me in




no doubt as td the manner in which it becomes me to act. God fore-

fend that her, whom, as to the more worthy, He has'given to thee, I

should ever accept of thee for mine. Had He seen fit that she should

be mine, far be it from thee or any other to suppose that He would

ever have awarded her to thee. Renounce not, then, that which thy

choice and wise counsel and His gift have made thine, and leave me,

to whom, as unworthy. He has appointed no such happiness, to

waste my life in tears ; for either I shall conquer my grief, which

will be grateful to thee, or it will conquer me, and so I shall be quit

of my pain. Quoth then Gisippus :— If our friendship, Titus, is

of such a sort as may entitle me to enforce thee to ensue behests of

mine, or as may induce thee of thine own free will to ensue thesame, such is the use to which, most of all, I am, minded to put it

and if thou lend not considerate ear unto my prayers, I shall by

force, that force which is lawful in the interest of a friend, make\

Sophronia thine. I know the might of Love, how redoubtable it is,

and how, not once only, but oftentimes, it has brought ill-starred lovers

to a miserable death ; and thee I see so hard bested that turn back

thou mightst not, nor get the better of thy grief, but holding on thy

course, must succumb, and perish ; and without doubt I should

speedily follow thee. And so, had I no other cause to love thee, thy

life is precious to me in that my own is bound up with it. Sophronia,

then, shall betthine j for thou wouldst not lightly find another so

much to thy mind, and I shall readily find another to love, and so

shall content both thee and me. In which matter, peradventure, I

might not be so liberal, were wives so scarce or hard to find as are

friends ; wherefore, as 'tis so easy a matter for me to find another

wife, I had liefer —I say not lose her, for in giving her to thee lose

her I shall not, but only transfer her to one that is my alter ego, and

that to her advantage —I had liefer, I say, transfer her to thee than

lose thee. And so, if aught my prayers avail with thee, I entreat thee

extricate thyself from this thy woeful plight, and comfort at once

thyself and me, and in good hope, address thyself to pluck that boon

which thy fervent love craves of her for whom thou yearnest.

Still scrupling, for shame, to consent that Sophronia should become

his wife, Titus remained yet a while inexorable ; but, yielding at

last to the solicitations of Love, reinforced by the exhortations of

Gisippus, thus he made answer :— Lo now, Gisippus, I know not




how to call it, whether 'tis more thy pleasure than mine, this whichI do, seeing that 'tis as thy pleasure that thou so earnestly entrcatesc

me to do it ; but, as thy liberality is such that my shame, thoughbecoming, may not withstand it, I will even do it. But of this rest

assured, that I do so, witting well that I receive from thee, not only

the lady I love, but with her my very life. And, Fate permitting,

may the Gods grant me to make thee such honourable and goodly

requital as may shew thee how sensible I am of the boon, whichthou, more compassionate of me than I am of myself, conferrcst onme. Quoth then Gisippus : — Now, for the giving effect to our

purpose, methinks, Titus, we should proceed on this wise. Thou

knowest that Sophronia, by treaty at length concluded between myfamily and hers, is become my betrothed : were I now to say that

she should not be my wife, great indeed were the scandal that wouldcome thereof, and I should affront both her family and mine own ;

whereof, indeed, I should make no account, so it gave me to see her

become thine ; but I fear that, were I to give her up at this junc-

ture, her family would forthwith bestow her upon another, per-

chance, than thee, and so we should both be losers. Wherefore

methinks that, so thou approve, I were best to complete what I have

begun, bring her home as my wife, and celebrate the nuptials, and

thereafter we can arrange that thou lie with her, privily, as thy wife.

Then, time and occasion serving, we will disclose the whole affair,

and if they are satisfied, well and good ; if not, 'twill be done all the

same, and as it cannot be undone, they must perforce make the best

of it.

Which counsel being approved by Titus, Gisippus brought the

lady home as his wife, Titus being now recovered, and quite himself

again ; and when they had made great cheer, and night was come,

the ladies, having bedded the bride, took their departure. Now the

chambers of Titus and Gisippus were contiguous, and one might

pass from one into the other : Gisippus, therefore, being come into

his room, extinguished every ray of light, and stole into that of

Titus, and bade him go get him to bed with his lady. Whereat Titus

gave way to shame, and would have changed his mind, and refused

to go in J but Gisippus, no less zealous at heart than in words to

serve his friend, after no small contention prevailed on him to go

thither. Now no sooner was Titus abed with the lady, than, taking



36o DECAMERON. [tenth day.

her in his arms, he, as if jestingly, asked in a low tone whether she

were minded to be his wife. She, taking him to be Gisippus,

answered, yes ; whereupon he set a fair and costly ring on her

finger, saying : — And I am minded to be thy husband. Andhaving presently consummated the marriage, he long and amorously

disported him with her, neither she, nor any other, being ever aware

that another than Gisippus lay with her.

Now Titus and Sophronia being after this sort wedded, Publius,

the father of Titus, departed this life. For which cause Titus was

bidden by letter to return forthwith to Rome to see to his affairs ;

wherefore he took counsel with Gisippus how he might take

Sophronia thither with him ; which might not well be done withoutgiving her to know how matters stood. Whereof, accordingly, one

day, having called her into the chamber, they fully apprised her,

Titus for her better assurance bringing to her recollection not a little

of what had passed between them. Whereat she, after glancing from

one to the other somewhat disdainfully, burst into a flood of tears,

and reproached Gisippus that he had so deluded her j and forthwith,

saying nought of the matter to any there, she hied her forth of

Gisippus' house and home to her father, to whom and her mother

she recounted the deceit which Gisippus had practised upon them as

upon her, averring that she was the wife not of Gisippus, as they

supposed, but of Titus. Whereby her father was aggrieved exceed-

ingly, and prolonged and grave complaint was made thereof by him

and his own and Gisippus' families, and there was not a little parleying,

and a world of pother. Gisippus earned the hatred of both his own and

Sophronia's kin, and all agreed that he merited not only censure but

severe punishment. He, however, averred that he had done a thing

seemly, and that Sophronia's kinsfolk owed him thanks for giving her

in marriage to one better than himself.

All which Titus witnessed with great sufFering, and witting that

'twas the way of the Greeks to launch forth in high words and

menaces, and refrain not until they should meet with one that

answered them, whereupon they were wont to grow not only

humble but even abject, was at length minded that their clavers

should no longer pass unanswered ; and, as with his Roman temper he

united Athenian subtlety, he cleverly contrived to bring the kins-

folk, as well of Gisippus as of Sophronia, together in a temple,



EIGHTH STORV.] DECAMERON. 361

where, being entered, attended only by Gisippus, thus (they being

intent to hear) he harangued them : — 'Tis the opinion of not a

few philosophers that whatsoever mortals do is ordained by the provi-

dence of the immortal Gods i for which cause some would have it

that nought either is, or ever shall be, done, save of necessity, albeit

others there are that restrict this necessity to that which is already

done. Regard we but these opinions with some little attention, andwe shall very plainly perceive that to censure that which cannot be

undone is nought else but to be minded to shew oneself wiser than

the Gods ; by whom we must suppose that we and our affairs are

swayed and governed with uniform and unerring wisdom. Whereby

you may very readily understand how vain and foolish a presumptionit is to pass judgment on their doings, and what manner and might

of chains they need who suffer themselves to be transported to such

excess of daring. Among whom, in my judgment, you must one

and all be numbered, if 'tis true, what I hear, to wit, that you have

complained and do continue to complain that Sophronia, albeit yougave her to Gisippus, is, nevertheless, become my wife j not consider-

ing that 'twas ordained from all eternity that she should become, not

the wife of Gisippus, but mine, as the fact does now declare.

But, for that discourse of the secret providence and purposes of

the Gods seems to many a matter hard and scarce to be understood,

I am willing to assume that they meddle in no wise with our con-

cerns, and to descend to the region of human counsels ; in speaking

whereof I must needs do two things quite at variance with my wont,

to wit, in some degree praise myself and censure or vilify another.

But, as in either case I mean not to deviate from the truth, and 'tis

what the occasion demands, I shall not fail so to do. With bitter

upbraidings, animated rather by rage than by reason, you cease not

to murmur, nay, to cry out, against Gisippus, and to harass him with

your abuse, and hold him condemned, for that her, whom you saw

fit to give him, he has seen fit to give me, to wife ; wherein I deemhim worthy of the highest commendation, and that for two reasons,

first, because he has done the ofHce of a friend, and secondly, because

he has done more wisely than you did. After what sort the sacred

laws of friendship prescribe that friend shall entreat friend, 'tis not to

my present purpose to declare ; 'twill suffice to remind you that the

tie of friendship should be more binding than that of blood, or




kinship j seeing that our friends are of our own choosing, whereas our

kinsfolk are appointed us by Fortune ; wherefore, if my life was moreto Gisippus than your goodwill, since I am, as I hold myself, his

friend, can any wonder thereat ?

But pass we to my second reason ; in the exposition whereof I

must needs with yet more cogency prove to you that he has been

wiser than you, seeing that, methinks, you wot nought of the provi-

dence of the Gods, and still less of the consequences of friendship. I

say then, that, as 'twas your premeditated and deliberate choice that

gave Sophronia to this young philosopher Gisippus, so 'twas his that

gave her to another young philosopher. 'Twas your counsel that

gave her to an Athenian ; 'twas his that gave her to aRoman

:

'twas your counsel that gave her to a man of gentle birth ; 'twas his

that gave her to one of birth yet gentler : wealthy was he to whomyour counsel gave her, most wealthy he to whom his counsel gave

her. Not only did he to whom your counsel gave her, love her not,

but he scarce knew her, whereas 'twas to one that loved her beyondall other blessings, nay, more dearly than his own life, that his

counsel gave her. And to the end that it may appear more plainly

that 'tis even as I say, and Gisippus' counsel more to be commendedthan yours, let us examine it point by point. That I, like Gisippus,

am young and a philosopher, my countenance and my pursuits may,

without making more words about the matter, sufficiently attest.

We are also of the same age, and have ever kept pace together in

our studies. Now true it is that he is an Athenian, and I am a

Roman. But, as touching the comparative glory of the cities,

should the matter be mooted, I say that I am of a free city, and he

of a city tributary ; that I am of a city that is mistress of all the

world, and he of one that is subject to mine ; that I am of a city

that flourishes mightily in arms, in empire, and in arts ; whereas he

cannot boast his city as famous save in arts.

Moreover, albeit you see me here in the guise of a most humble

scholar, I am not born of the dregs of the populace of Rome. Myhalls and the public places of Rome are full of the antique effigies of

my forefathers, and the annals of Rome abound with the records of

triumphs led by the Quintii to the Roman Capitol ; and so far from

age having withered it, to-day, yet more abundantly than ever of

yore, flourishes the glory of our name. Of my wealth I [forbear, for



BiGHTH sTORv.] DECAMERON. 363

shame, to speak, being mindful that honest poverty is the time-

honoured and richest inheritance of the noble citizens of Rome ;

but, allowing for the nonce the opinion of the vulgar, which holds

poverty in disrepute, and highly appraises wealth, I, albeit I never

sought it, yet, as the favoured of Fortune, h^vc abundant store

thereof. Now well I wot that, Gisippus being of your own city,

you justly prized and prize an alliance with him ; but not a whit

less should you prize an alliance with me at Rome, considering that

there you will have in me an excellent host, and a patron apt, zealous

and potent to serve you as well in matters of public interest as in

your private concerns. Who, then, dismissmg all bias from his

mind, and judging with impartial reason, would deem your counselmore commendable than that of Gisippus ? Assuredly none.

Sophronia, then, being married to Titus Quintius Fulvus, a citizen

of Rome, of an ancient and illustrious house, and wealthy, and a

friend of Gisippus, whoso takes umbrage or offence thereat, does

that which it behoves him not to do, and knows not what he does.

Perchance some will say that their complaint is not that

Sophronia is the wife of Titus, but that she became his wife after

such a sort, to wit, privily, by theft, neither friend nor any of her

kin witting aught thereof; but herein is no matter of marvel, no

prodigy as yet unheard-of. I need not instance those who beforfe

now have taken to them husbands in defiance of their fathers' will,

or have eloped with their lovers and been their mistresses before they

were their wives, or of whose marriages no word has been spoken,

until their pregnancy or parturition published them to the world,

and necessity sanctioned the fact : nought of this has happened in

the case of Sophronia ; on the contrary, 'twas in proper form, and in

meet and seemly sort, that Gisippus gave her to Titus. And others,

peradventure, will say that 'twas by one to whom, such office be-

longed not that she was bestowed in marriage. Nay, but this is but

vain and womanish querulousness, and comes of scant consideration.

Know we not, then, that Fortune varies according to circumstances

her methods and her means of disposing events to their predeter-

mined ends ? What matters it to me, if it be a cobbler, rather than

a philosopher, that Fortune has ordained to compass something for

me, whether privily or overtly, so only the result is as it should be ?

I ought, indeed, to take order^ if the cobbler be indiscreet, that he




meddle no more in affairs of mine, but, at the same time, I ought to

thank him for what he has done. If Gisippus has duly bestowedSophronia in marriage, it is gratuitous folly to find fault with the

manner and the person. If you mistrust his judgment, have a care

that it be not in his power to do the like again, but thank him

for this turn.

*' Natheless, you are to know that I used no cunning practice or

deceit to sully in any degree the fair fame of your house in the

person of Sophronia ; and, albeit I took her privily to wife, I came

not as a ravisher to despoil her of her virginity, nor in any hostile

sort was I minded to make her mine on dishonourable terms, and

spurn your alliance ; but, being fervently enamoured of her be-witching beauty and her noble qualities, I wist well that, should I

make suit for her with those formalities which you, perchance, will

say were due, then, for the great love you bear her, and for fear lest I

should take her away with me to Rome, I might not hope to have

her. Accordingly I made use of the secret practice which is nowmanifest to you, and brought Gisippus to consent in my interest to

that whereto he was averse j and thereafter, ardently though I loved

her, I sought not to commingle with her as a lover, but as a hus-

band, nor closed with her, until, as she herself by her true witness

tnay assure you, I had with apt words and with the ring made her

my lawful wife, asking her if she would have me to husband, whereto

she answered, yes. Wherein if she seem to have been tricked, 'tis

not I that am to blame, but she, for that she asked me not who I was.

This, then, is the great wrong, sin, crime, whereof for love and

friendship's sake Gisippus and I are guilty, that Sophronia is privily

become the wife of Titus Quintius : 'tis for this that you harass him

with your menaces and hostile machinations. What more would

you do, had he given her to a villein, to a caitiff, to a slave ? Wherewould you find fetters, dungeons, crosses adequate to your venge-

ance ? But enough of this at present : an event, which I did not

expect, has now happened ; my father is dead ; and I must needsreturn to Rome ; wherefore, being fain to take Sophronia with me,

I have discovered to you that which otherwise I had, perchance, still

kept close. Whereto, if you are wise, you will gladly reconcile

yourselves ; for that, if I had been minded to play you false, or put

an aftront upon you, I might have scornfully abandoned her to you j




but God forcfend that such baseness be ever harboured in a Romanbreast. Sophronia, then, by the will of the Gods, by force of bw,and by my own love-taught astuteness, is mine. The which it would

seem that you, deeming yourselves, peradventure, wiser than the

Gods, or the rest of mankind, do foolishly set at nought, and that in

two ways alike most offensive to me ; inasmuch as you both with-

hold from me Sophronia, in whom right, as against me, you have

none, and also entreat as your enemy Gisippus, to whom you are

rightfully bounden. The folly whereof I purpose not at present

fully to expound to you, but in friendly sort to counsel you to abate

your wrath and abandon all your schemes of vengeance, and restore

Sophronia to me, that I may part from you on terms of amity andalliance, and so abide : but of this rest assured, that whether this,

which is done, like you or not, if you are minded to contravene it, I

shall take Gisippus hence with me, and once arrived in Rome, shall

in your despite find means to recover her who is lawfully mine, and

pursuing you with unremitting enmity, will apprise you by experi-

ence of the full measure and effect of a Roman's wrath.

Having so said, Titus started to his feet, his countenance dis-

torted by anger, and took Gisippus by the hand, and with manifest

contempt for all the rest, shaking his head at them and threatening

them, led him out of the temple. They that remained in the

temple, being partly persuaded by his arguments to accept his

alliance and friendship, partly terrified by his last words, resolved by

common consent that 'twas better to have the alliance of Titus, as

they had lost that of Gisippus, than to add to that loss the enmity of

Titus. Wherefore they followed Titus, and having come up with

him, told him that they were well pleased that Sophronia should be

his, and that they should prize his alliance and the friendship of dear

Gisippus ; and having ratified this treaty of amity and alliance with

mutual cheer, they departed and sent Sophronia to Titus. Sophronia,

discreetly making a virtue of necessity, transferred forthwith to Titus

the love she had borne Gisippus, and being come with Titus to Rome,was there received with no small honour. Gisippus tarried in Athens,

held in little account by well-nigh all the citizens, and being involved

in certain of their broils, was, not long afterwards, with all his house-

hold, banished the city, poor, nay, destitute, and condemned to per-

petual exile. Thus hard bested, and at length reduced to mendicancy.




he made his way, so as least discomfortably he might, to Rome,

being minded to see whether Titus would remember him : andthere, learning that Titus lived, and was much affected by all the

Romans, and having found out his house, he took his stand in front

of it, and watched until Titus came by ; to whom, for shame of the

sorry trim that he was in, he ventured no word, but did his endeavour

that he might be seen of him, hoping that Titus might recognize

him, and call him by his name : but Titus passing on, Gisippus

deeming that he had seen and avoided him, and calling to mind that

which aforetime he had done for him, went away wroth and

desperate. And fasting and penniless, and —for 'twas now night

knowing not whither hewent, and yearning

aboveall for death,

hewandered by chance to a spot, which, albeit 'twas within the city,

had much of the aspect of a wilderness, and espying a spacious

grotto, he took shelter there for the night; and worn out at last with

grief, on the bare ground, wretchedly clad as he was, he fell asleep.

Now two men that had that night gone out a thieving, having

committed the theft, came towards morning to the grotto, and there

quarrelled, and the stronger slew the other, and took himself off.

Aroused by the noise, Gisippus witnessed the murder, and deeming

that he had now the means of compassing, without suicide, the death

for which he so much longed, budged not a jot, but stayed there,

until the Serjeants of the court, which had already got wind of the

affair, came on the scene, ahd laid violent hands upon him, and led

him away. Being examined, he confessed that he had slain the man,

and had then been unable to make his escape from the grotto.

Wherefore the praetor, Marcus Varro by name, sentenced him to

death by crucifixion, as was then the custom. But Titus, whohappened at that moment to come into the praetorium, being told

the crime for which he was condemned, and scanning the poor

wretch's face, presently recognized him for Gisippus, and marvelled

how he should come to be there, and in such a woeful plight. And

most ardently desiring to succour him, nor seeing other way to save

his life except to exonerate him by accusing himself, he straightway

stepped forward, and said with a loud voice ;— Marcus Varro, call

back the poor man on whom thou hast passed sentence, for he is

innocent. 'Tis enough that I have incurred the wrath of the Godsby one deed of violence, to wit, the murder of him whom your




Serjeants found dead this morning, without aggravating my offence

by the death of another innocent man. Perplexed, and vexed that heshould have been heard by all in the praetorium, but unable honour-

ably to avoid compliance with that which the laws enjoined, Varro

had Gisippus brought back, and in presence of Titus said to him :—** How camest thou to be so mad as, though no constraint was put

upon thee, to confess a deed thou never didst, thy life being at stake ?

Thou saidst that 'twas thou by whom the man was slain last night,

and now comes this other, and says that 'twas not thou but he that

slew him. Gisippus looked, and seeing Titus, wist well that, being

.grateful for the service rendered by him in the past, Titus was now

minded to save his life at the cost of his own : wherefore, affected totears, he said : — Nay but, Varro, in very sooth I slew him, and 'tis

now too late, this tender solicitude of Titus for my deliverance.

But on his part : — Praetor, quoth Titus, thou seest this man is

a stranger, and was found unarmed beside the murdered man ; thou

canst not doubt that he was fain of death for very wretchedness :

wherefore discharge him, and let punishment light on me who have

merited it.

Marvelling at the importunity of both, Varro readily surmised

that neither was guilty. And while he was casting about how he

might acquit them, lo, in came a young man, one Publius Ambustus,

a desperate character, and known to all the Romans for an arrant

thief. He it was that had verily committed the murder, and witting

both the men to be innocent of that of which each accused himself, so

sore at heart was he by reason of their innocence, that, overborne by

an exceeding great compassion, he presented himself before Varro,

and :— Praetor, quoth he, 'tis destiny draws me hither to loose

the knot of these men's contention ; and some God within me leaves

me no peace of his whips and stings, until I discover my offence :

wherefore know that neither of these men is guilty of that of which

each accuses himself. 'Tis verily I that slew the man this morning

about daybreak ; and before I slew him, while I was sharing our

plunder with him, I espied this poor fellow asleep there. Noughtneed I say to clear Titus : the general bruit of his illustrious renownattests that he is not a man of such a sort. Discharge him, therefore,

and exact from me the penalty prescribed by the laws.

The affair had by this time come to the ears of Octavianus, who




caused all three to be brought before him, and demanded to know

the causes by which they had been severally moved to accuse them-selves ; and, each having told his story, Octavianus released the twoby reason of their innocence, and the third for love of them. Titus

took Gisippus home, having first chidden him not a little for his

faint-heartedness and diffidence, and there, Sophronia receiving him as

a brother, did him marvellous cheer ; and having comforted him awhile, and arrayed him in apparel befitting his worth and birth, hefirst shared with him all his substance, and then gave him his sister,

a young damsel named Fulvia, to wife, and said to him : — Choosenow, Gisippus, whether thou wilt tarry here with me, or go back

to Achaia with all that I have given thee.

Partly perforce of his banishment from his city, partly for that

the sweet friendship of Titus was justly dear to him, Gisippus

consented to become a Roman. And so, long and happily they

lived together at Rome, Gisippus with his Fulvia, and Titus withhis Sophronia, in the same house, growing, if possible, greater friends

day by day.

Exceeding sacred then, is friendship, and worthy not only to be

had in veneration, but to be extolled with never-ending praise, as the

most dutiful mother of magnificence and seemliness,' sister of gratitude

and charity, and foe to enmity and avarice j ever, without waiting

to be asked, ready to do as generously by another as she would be

done by herself. Rarely indeed is it to-day that twain are found, in

whom her most holy fruits are manifest ; for which is most shame-

fully answerable the covetousness of mankind, which, regarding only

private interest, has banished friendship beyond earth's farthest bourne,

there to abide in perpetual exile. How should love, or wealth, or

kinship, how should, aught but friendship have so quickened the soul

of Gisippus that the tears and sighs of Titus should incline his heart

to cede to him the fair and gracious lady that was his betrothed and

his beloved ? Laws, menaces, terror How should these, hpw should

aught but friendship, have withheld Gisippus, in lonely places, in

hidden retreats, in his own bed, from enfolding (not perchance unso-

licited by her) the fair damsel within his youthful embrace ?

Honours, rewards, gains Would Gisippus for these, would he for

aught but friendship, have made nothing of the loss of kindred —his

own and Sophronia's —have made nothing of the injurious murmurs




of the populace, have made nothing of mocks and scorns, so only

he might content his friend ? And on the other hand, for whatother cause than friendship had Titus, when he might decently have

feigned not to see, have striven with the utmost zeal to cotnpass his

own death, and set himself upon the cross in Gisippus' stead ? Andwhat but friendship had left no place for suspicion in the soul ofTitus, and filled it with a most fervent desire to give his sister to

Gisippus, albeit he saw him to be* reduced to extreme penuryand destitution ? But so it is that men covet hosts of acquaintance,

troops of kinsfolk, offspring in plenty ; and the number of their

dependants increases with their wealth} and they reflect not that

there is none of these, be he who he may, but will be more appre-hensive of the least peril threatening himself than cumbered to avert

a great peril from his lord or kinsman, whereas between friends weknow 'tis quite contrariwise.

VOL. II. B B



NOVEL IX.

Saladin, in guise of a merchant^ is honourably entreated

by Messer Torello. 'The Crusade ensuing^ Messer

Tore//o appoints a date, after which his wife maymarry again : he is taken prisoner, and by training

hawks comes under the Soldans notice. The Soldan

recognizes him, makes himself known to him, and

entreats him with all honour, Messer Torello falls

sick, and by magic arts is transported in a single night

to Pavia, where his wife's second marriage is then to be

solemnized, and being present thereat, is recognized by

her, and returns with her to his house.

So ended Filomena her story, and when all alike had commendedthe magnificence shewn by Titus in his gratitude, the king, reserving

the last place for Dioneo, thus began : —Lovesome my ladies, true

beyond all question is what Filomena reports of friendship, and with

justice did she deplore in her closing words the little account in

which 'tis held to-day among mortals. And were we here for the

purpose of correcting, or even of censuring, the vices of the age, I

should add a copious sequel to her discourse ; but as we have another

end in view, it has occurred to me to set before you in a narrative,

which will be of considerable length, but entertaining throughout,

an instance of Saladin's magnificence, to the end that, albeit, by reason

of our vices, it may not be possible for us to gain to the full the

friendship of any, yet by the matters whereof you shall hear in mystory we may at least be incited to take delight in doing good offices,

370




in the hope that sooner or later we may come by our reward

thereof.I say, then, that in the time of the Emperor Frederic I., as

certain writers affirm, the Christians made common emprise for the

recovery of the Holy Land. Whereof that most vahant prince,

Saladin, then Soldan of Babylonia, being in good time apprised,

resolved to see for himself the preparation^ made by the Christian

potentates for the said emprise, that he might put himself in better

trim to meet them. So, having ordered all things to his mind in

Egypt, he made as if he were bound on a pilgrimage, and attended

only by two of his chiefest and sagest lords, and three servants, took

the road in the guise of a merchant. And having surveyed manyprovinces of Christendom, as they rode through Lombardy with

intent to cross the Alps, they chanced, between Milan and Pavia, to

fall in with a gentleman, one Messcr Torello d'Istria da Pavia, whowith his servants and his dogs and falcons was betaking him to a fine

estate that he had on the Ticino, there to tarry a while. NowMcsser Torello no sooner espied Saladin and his lords than he

guessed them to be gentlemen and foreigners j and, being zealous to

do them honour, when Saladin asked one of his servants how far

off Pavia might still be, and if he might win there in time to enter

the town, he suffered not the servant to make answer, but : —'* No,

gentlemen, quoth he, by the time you reach Pavia 'twill be too

late for you to enter. So replied Saladin, then might you

be pleased to direct us, as we are strangers, where we may best be

lodged? That gladly will I, returned Messer Torello. Iwas but now thinking to send one of these my^men on an errand to

Pavia ; I will send him with you, and he will guide you to a place

where you will find very comfortable quarters. Then, turning to

one of his most trusty servants, he gave him his instructions, and

despatched him with them : after which, he repaired to his estate,

and forthwith, as best he might, caused a goodly supper to be made

ready, and the tables set in his garden j which done, he stationed

himself at the gate on the look-out for his guests.

The servant, conversing with the gentlemen of divers matters,

brought them by devious roads to his lord's estate without their being

ware of it. Whom as soon as Messer Torello espied, he came forth

afoot to meet them, and said with a smile : — A hearty welcome to




you, gentlemen. Now Saladin, being very quick of apprehension,

perceived that the knight had doubted, when he met them, that, werehe to bid them to his house, they might not accept his hospitality;

and accordingly, that it might not be in their power to decline it, had

brought them to his house by a ruse. And so, returning his greeting

:

— Sir, quoth he, were it meet to find fault with those that shew

courtesy, we should have a grievance against you, for that, to say

nought of somewhat delaying our journey, you have in guerdon of

a single greeting constrained us to accept so noble a courtesy as

yours. Whereto the knight, who was of good understanding and

well-spoken, made answer : — Gentlemen, such courtesy as weshew you will, in comparison of that which, by what I gather from

your aspect, were meet for you, prove but a sorry thing ; but in sooth

this side of Pavia you might not anywhere have been well lodged

wherefore take it not amiss that you have -come somewhat out of

your way to find less discomfortable quarters. And as he spoke,

about them flocked the servants, who, having helped them to dismount,

saw to their horses j whereupon Messer Torello conducted them to

the chambers that were made ready for them, where, having caused

them to be relieved of their boots, and refreshed with the coolest of

wines, he held pleasant converse with them until supper-time.

Saladin and his lords and servants all knew Latin, so that they both

understood and made themselves understood very well, and there

was none of them but adjudged this knight to be the most agreeable

and debonair man, and therewithal the best talker, that he had ever

seen ; while to Messer Torello, on the other hand, they shewed as

far greater magnificoes than he had at first supposed, whereby he was

inly vexed that he had not been able that evening to do them the

honours of company, and a more ceremonious banquet. For which

default he resolved to mdke amends on the ensuing morning : where-

fore, having imparted to one of his servants that which he would have

done, he sent him to his most judicious and highminded lady at

Pavia, which was close by, and where never a gate was locked.Which done, he brought the gentlemen into the garden, and courte-

ously asked them who they were. We are Cypriote merchants,

replied Saladin, and 'tis from Cyprus we come, and we are on our

way to Paris on business. Quoth then Messer Torello :— Would

to God that our country bred gentlemen of such a quality as are the



NINTH 8T0RY.J DECAMERON. 373

merchants that I sec Cyprus breeds I From which they passed to

discourse of other matters, until, supper-time being come, he

besought them to seat them at table } whereat, considering that

the supper was but improvised, their entertainment was excellent

and well-ordered.

The tables being cleared, Mcsser Torello, surmising that they

must be weary, kept them no long time from their rest, but bestowed

them in most comfortable beds, and soon after went to rest himself.

Meanwhile the servant that he had sent to Pavia did his lord's errand

to the lady, who, in the style rather of a queen than of a housewife,

forthwith assembled not a few of Messer Torello's friends and vassals,

and caused all meet preparation to be made for a magnificent banquet,and by messengers bearing torches bade not a few of the noblest of

the citizens thereto j and had store of silken and other fabrics and

vair brought in, and all set in order in every point as her husband

had directed. Day came, and the gentlemen being risen, Messer

Torello got him to horse with them, and having sent for his hawks,

brought them to a ford, and shewed them how the hawks flew.

By and by, Saladin requesting of him a guide to the best inn at

Pavia : — I myself will be your guide, returned Messer Torello,

for I have occasion to go thither. Which offer they, nothing

doubting, did gladly accept, and so with him they set forth} and

about tierce, being come to the city, and expecting to be directed to

the best inn, they were brought by Messer Torello to his own house,

where they were forthwith surrounded by full fifty of the greatest

folk of the city, gathered there to give the gentlemen a welcome

and 'twas who should hold a bridle or a stirrup, while they dis-

mounted. Whereby Saladin and his lords more than guessing the

truth :— Messer Torello, quoth they, 'twas not this that we

craved of you. Honour enougii had we from you last night, and

for in excess of our desires ; wherefore thou mightst very well have

left us to go our own road. Whereto : — Gentlemen, replied

Messer Torello, for that which was done yestereve I have to thank

Fortune rather than you : seeing that Fortune surprised you on the

road at an hour when you must needs repair to my little house : for

that which shall be done this morning I shall be beholden to you, as

will also these gentlemen that surround you, with whom, if you

deem it courteous so to do, youmay refuse to breakfast, if you like.




Fairly conquered, Saladin and his lords dismounted, and heartily

welcomed by the gentlemen, were conducted to the chambers whichhad been most sumptuously adorned for their use ; and having laid

aside their riding dress, and taken some refreshment, repaired to the

saloon, where all had been made ready with splendour. There,

having washed their hands, they sat them down to table, and were

regaled with a magnificent repast of many courses, served with all

stately and feir ceremony, insomuch that, had the Emperor himself

been there, 'twould not have been possible to do him more honour.

And albeit Saladin and his lords were grandees, and used to exceeding

great displays of pomp and state, nevertheless this shewed to them

as not a little marvellous, and one of the greatest they had ever seen,having regard to the quality of their host, whom they knew to be

but a citizen, and no lord. Breakfast done, and the tables cleared,

they conversed a while of high matters, and then, as 'twas very hot,

all the gentlemen of Pavia —so it pleased Messer Torello —retired for

their siesta, while he remained with his three guests ; with whom he

presently withdrew into a chamber, whither, that there might be

nought that he held dear which they had not seen, he called his

noble lady. And so the dame, exceeding fair and stately of person,

and arrayed in rich apparel, with her two little boys, that shewed as

two angels, on either hand, presented herself before them, and

graciously greeted them. Whereupon they rose, and returned her

salutation with reverence, and caused her to sit down among them,

and made much of her two little boys. But after some interchange

of gracious discourse, Messer Torello being withdrawn somewhatapart, she asked them courteously, whence they came and whither

they were bound, and had of them the same answer that Messer

Torello had received. So quoth the lady with a joyful air,

then I see that my woman's wit w«ll be of service to you ; where-

fore I pray you as a special favour neither to reject nor to despise the

little gift that I am about to present to you ; but reflecting that, as

women have but small minds, so they make but small gifts, accept it,

having regard rather to the good will of the giver than the mag-nitude of the gift. She then caused bring forth for each of themtwo pair of robes, lined the one with silk, the other with vair, nosuch robes as citizens or merchants, but such as lords, use to wear,

and three vests of taffeta, besides linen clothes, and : — Take them,




quoth she. The robes I give you arc even such as I have arrayed

my lord withal : the other things, considering that you arc far fromyour wives, and have come a long way, and have yet a long way to

go, and that merchants love to be neat and trim, may, albeit they

are of no great value, be yet acceptable to you.

Wondering, the gentlemen acknowledged without reserve that

there was no point of courtesy wherein Messer TorcUo was not

minded to acquit himself towards them. And noting the lordly

fashion of the robes, unsuited to the quality of merchants, they mis-

doubted that Messer Torello had recognized them. However, quoth

one of them to the lady : — Gifts great indeed are these. Madam,

nor such as lightly to accept, were it not that thereto we are con-strained by your prayers, to which we may on no account say, no.

Whereupon, Messer Torello being now come back, the lady bade

them ndieu, and took her leave of them ; and in like manner did she

cause their servants to be supplied with equipment suitable to them.

The gentlemen, being much importuned thereto by Messer Torello,

consented to tarry the rest of the day with him ; and so, having

slept, they donned their robes, and rode a while with him about the

city ; and supper-time being come, they feasted magnificently, and

with a numerous and honourable company. And so in due time

they betook them to rest ; and at daybreak, being risen, they found,

in lieu of their jaded nags, three stout and excellent palfreys, and in

like manner fresh and goodly mounts for their servants. WhichSaladin marking turned to his lords, and : — By God, quoth he,

never was gentleman more complete and courteous and considerate

than this Messer Torello, and if the Christian kings are as kingly as

he is knightly, there is none of them whose onset the Soldan of

Babylon might well abide, to say nought of so many as we see making

ready to fall upon him. However, knowing that 'twas not per-

missible to refuse, he very courteously thanked Messer Torello : and

so they got them to horse. Messer Torello with a numerous com-

pany escorted them far beyond the gate of the city, until, loath

though Saladin was to part from him, so grea tly did he now affect

him, yet as he must needs speed on, he besought him to turn back.

Whereupon, albeit it irked him to take leave of them :— Gentle-

men, quoth Messer Torello, since such is your pleasure, I obey ;

but this I must say to you. Who you are I know not, nor would I




know more than you are pleased to impart; but whoever you may

be, you will not make me believe that you are merchants this whileand so adieu To whom Saladin, having already taken leave of

all his company, thus made answer: — Peradventure, Sir, we shall

one day give you to see somewhat of our merchandise, and thereby

confirm your belief : and so adieu

Thus parted Saladin and his company from Messer Torello,

Saladin burning with an exceeding great desire, if life should be con-

tinued to him, and the war, which he anticipated, should not undo

him, to shew Messer Torello no less honour than he had received at

his hands, and conversing not a little with his lords both of Messer

Torello himself and of his lady, and all that he did and that in any wise

concerned him, ever more highly commending them. However,

having with much diligence spied out all the West, he put to sea,

and returned with his company to Alexandria ; and having now all

needful information, he put himself in a posture of defence. Messer

Torello, his mind full of his late guests, returned to Pavia j but,

though he long pondered who they might be, he came never at or

anywhere near the truth.

Then with great and general mustering of forces came the time

for embarking on the emprise, and Messer Torello, heeding not the

tearful entreaties of his wife, resolved to join therein. So, being fully

equipped and about to take horse, he said to his lady, whom he mostdearly loved : — Wife, for honour's sake and for the weal of mysoul, I go, as thou seest, on this emprise : our substance and our

honour I commend to thy care. Certain I am of my departure, but,

for the thousand accidents that may ensue, certitude have I none of

my return : wherefore I would have thee do me this grace, that,

whatever be my fate, shouldst thou lack certain intelligence that I

live, thou wilt expect me a year and a month and a day from this

my departure, before thou marry again. Whereto the lady, weep-ing bitterly, made answer :

— Messer Torello, I know not how I

shallsupport the distress in which, thus departing, you leave me ;

but should my life not fail beneath it, and aught befall thee,

live and die secure that I shall live and die the wife of MesserTorello, and of his memory. Whereupon: — Wife, returned

Messer Torello, well assured I am that, so far as in thee

shall lie, this promise of thine will be kept ; but thou art




young) and fair, and of a great family, and thy virtue is rare and

generally known : wherefore I make no doubt that, should there be

any suspicion of my death, thou wilt be asked of thy brothers and

kinsmen by many a great gentleman : against whose attacks, though

thou desire it never so, thou wilt not be able to hold out, but wilt

perforce be fain to gratify one or other of them ; for which cause it

is that I ask thee to wait just so long and no longer. As I have

said, replied the lady, so, in so far as I may, I shall do ; and if I

must needs do otherwise, rest assured that of this your behest I shall

render you obedience. But I pray God that He bring neither younor me to such a strait yet a while. Which said, the lady wept,

and having embraced Messer Torello, drew from her finger a ring,and gave it to him, saying : — Should it betide that I die before I

see you again, mind you of me, when you look upon it.

Messer Torello took the ring, and got him to horse, and having

bidden all adieu, fared forth on his journey ; and being arrived with

his company at Genoa, he embarked on a galley, and having de-

parted thence, in no long time arrived at Acre, and joined the main

Christian host ; wherein there by and by broke out an exceeding

great and mortal sickness j during which, whether owing to Saladin's

strategy, or his good fortune, he ipade an easy capture of well-nigh

all the remnant of the Christians that were escaped, and quartered

them in divers prisons in many cities ; of which captives Messer

Torello being one, was brought to Alexandria and there confined.

Where, not being known, and fearing to make himself known, he,

under constraint of necessity, applied him to the training of hawks,

whereof he was a very great master ; and thereby he fell under the

notice of Saladin, who took him out of the prison, and made him his

falconer. The Soldan called him by no other name than *' Chris-

tian, and neither recognized, nor was recognized by, him, who, his

whole soul ever in Pavia, essayed many a time to escape, that he

might return thither, but still without success: wherefore, certain

Genoese, that were come to Alexandria as ambassadors to the Soldan

for the redemption of some of their townsfolk, being about to return,

he resolved to write to his lady, how that he lived, and would comeback to her, as soon as he might, and that she should expect his

return ; and having so done, he earnestly besought one of the

ambassadors, whom he knew, to see that the letter reached the



378 DECAMERON. [tenth hay,

hands of the Abbot of San Pietro in Ciel d'Oro, who was his

uncle.

Now, such being the posture of Messer Torello's affairs, it befell

one day that, while he talked with Saladin of his hawks, he smiled ;

whereby his mouth shaped itself in a fashion, of which Saladin had

taken particular note, while he was at Pavia. And so, recalling

Messer Torello to mind, he fixed his gaze upon him, and it seemed

to him that 'twas indeed Messer Torello ; wherefore, leaving the

matter of which they were conversing :— Tell me. Christian,

quoth he, of what country art thou in the West ? My lord,

replied Messer Torello, I am a Lombard, of a city called Pavia, a

poor man, and of humble condition. Which when he heard,Saladin, well-nigh resolved of his doubt, said joyfully to himself:

God has provided me with occasion meet to prove to this manwhat store I set by his courtesy ; and without another word he

brought him into a room where he kept all his wearing apparel, and

said :— Look, Christian, if among these robes there be any that

thou hast ever seen before. So Messer Torello examined the robes,

and espied those which his lady had given to Saladin ; but, deeming

they could not be the same, he replied :— My lord, there is no robe

here that I recognize, albeit 'tis true that those two robes are such as

I once wore myself, in company with three merchants that came to

my house. Whereupon Saladin could refrain himself no longer ;

but, tenderly embracing him : — You, quoth he, are Messer

Torello d'Istria, and I am one of those three merchants to whomyour lady gave these robes ; and now is the time to warrant you of

the quality of my merchandise, as, when I parted from you, I told

you might come to pass. Which to hear, Messer Torello was at

once overjoyed and abashed, overjoyed to have entertained so illus-

trious a guest, and abashed, for that it seemed to him that he

had given him but a sorry entertainment. To whom :— Messer

Torello, quoth Saladin, since hither has God sent you to me,

deem that 'tis no more I that am lord here, but you. And so

they made great cheer together ; and then Saladin caused Messer

Torello to be royally arrayed ; and presented him to all his greatest

lords, and having extolled his merit in no stinted measure, bade

all, as they hoped for grace from him, honour Messer Torello

even as himself. And so from that hour did they all ; but most




especially the two lords that had been with Saladin at Messer Torello*s

house.

The glory, to which Messer Torello thus suddenly found himself

raised, somewhat diverted his mind from the affairs of Lombardy,and the more so, for that he entertained no doubt that his letter

had reached his uncle's hands. But for that in the camp, or rather

army, of the Christians, on the day when they were taken by Saladin,

there died and was buried one Messer Torello de Dignes, an obscure

knight of Provence, whereas Messer Torello d'Istria was known to

all the host for a right noble gentleman, whoso heard tell that

Messer Torello was dead, supposed that 'twas Messer Torello d'Istria,

and not Messer Torello de Dignes ; nor did what happened after,

to wit, the capture, avail to undeceive them ; for not a few Italians

had carried the report home with them ; among whom there were

some who made bold to say that they had seen Messer Torello

d'Istria's dead body, and had been present at its interment. Whichrumour coming to the ears of his lady and his kinsfolk, great indeed,

nay, immeasurable was the distress that it occasioned not only to

them, but to all that had known him. The mode and measure of his

lady's grief, her mourning, her lamentation, 'twere tedious to de-

scribe. Enough that, after some months spent in almost unmitigated

tribulation, her sorrow shewed signs of abatement ; whereupon, suit

being made for her hand by some of the greatest men of Lombardy,her brothers and other kinsfolk began to importune her to marry

again. Times not a few, and with floods of tears, she refused ; but,

overborne at last, she consented to do as they would have her, upon

the understanding that she was to remain unmarried until the term

for which she had bound herself to Messer Torello was fulfilled.

Now the lady's affairs being in this posture at Pavia, it befell

that some eight days or so before the time appointed for her mar-

riage, Messer Torello one day espied in Alexandria one that he had

observed go with the Genoese ambassadors aboard the galley that

took them to Genoa ; wherefore he called him, and asked him whatsort of a voyage they had had, and when they had reached Genoa. My lord, replied the other, the galley made but a sorry voyage of

it, as I learned in Crete, where I remained ; for that, while she was

nearing Sicily, there arose a terrible gale from the North that drove

her on to the shoals of Barbary, and never a soul escaped, and among




the rest my two brothers were lost. Which report believing —and

'twas indeed most true —^and calling to mind that in a few days the

term that he had asked of his wife would be fulfilled, and surmising

that there could be no tidings of him at Pavia, Messer Torello madeno question but that the lady was provided with another husband ;

whereby he sank into such a depth of woe that he lost all power to

eat, and betook him to his bed and resigned himself to die. Whichwhen Saladin, by whom he was most dearly beloved, learned, he

came to him, and having plied him with many and most instanf

entreaties, learned at length the cause of his distress and sickness ;

and, having chidden him not a little that he had not sooner apprised

him thereof, he besought him to put on a cheerful courage, assuring

him, that, if so he did, he would bring it to pass that he should be in

Pavia at the time appointed, and told him how. Believing Saladin's

words the more readily that he had many times heard that 'twas

possible, and had not seldom been done, Messer Torello recovered

heart, and was instant with Saladin that he should make all haste.

Accordingly Saladin bade one of his necromancers, of whose skill

he had already had proof, to devise a method whereby Messer Torello

should be transported abed in a single night to Pavia : the necro-

mancer made answer that it should be done, but that 'twere best

he put Messer Torello to sleep. The matter being thus arranged,

Saladin hied him back to Messer Torello, and finding him most

earnestly desirous to be in Pavia at the time appointed, if so it might

be, and if not, to die :— Messer Torello, quoth he, if you dearly

love your lady, and misdoubt that she may become the bride of

another, no wise, God wot, do I censure you, for that, of all the

ladies that ever I saw, she, for bearing, manners, and address —to say

nought of beauty, which is but the flower that perishes —seems to

me the most worthy to be lauded and cherished. Much had I been

gratified, since Fortune has sent you hither to me, that, while you and

I yet live, we had exercised equal lordship in the governance of this

my realm, and, if such was not God's will, and this must needs comeupon you, that you are fain either to be at Pavia at the time

appointed or to die, I had desired of all things to have been apprised

thereof at such a time that I might have sent you home with such

honourable circumstance and state and escort as befit your high

desert ; which not being vouchsafed me, and as nought will content



NINTH STORY.] DECAMERON. jgl

you but to be there forthwith, I do what I can, and «peed you

thither on such wi«c as I have told you. ** My lord, replied MeiserTorello, had you said nought, you have already done enough to

prove your goodwill towards me, and that in so high a degree as is

quite beyond my deserts, and most assured of the truth of what yousay shall I live and die, and so had done, had you not said it ; but,

seeing that my resolve is taken, I pray you that that, which youpromise to do, be done speedily, for that after to-morrow I may no

longer count on being expected.

Saladin assured him that 'twas so ordered that he should not be

disappointed. And on the morrow, it being his purpose to speed

him on his journey that same night, he caused to be set up in one ofhis great halls a most goodly and sumptuous bed composed of mat-

tresses, all, as was their wont, of velvet and cloth of gold, and had it

covered with a quilt, adorned at certain intervals with enormous

pearls, and most rare precious stones, insomuch that 'twas in after

time accounted a priceless treasure, and furnished with two pillows

to match it. Which done, he bade array Messer Torello, who was

now quite recovered, in a robe after the Saracenic fashion, the

richest and goodliest thing of the kind that was ever seen, and wrap

about his head, according to their wont, one of their hu^e turbans.

Then, at a late hour, Saladin, attended by certain of his lords,

entered the chamber where Messer Torello was, and seating himself

beside him, all but wept as thus he began :—'* Messer Torello, the

time is nigh at hand when you and I must part ; wherefore, since

I may neither give you my own, noi* others* company (the journey

that you are about to make not permitting it), I am come here, as

'tis fitting, in this chamber to take my leave of you. Wherefore,

before I bid you adieu, I entreat you, by that friendship, that love,

which is between us, that you forget me not, and that, if it be

possible, when you have settled your affairs in Lombardy, you come?.t least once, before our days are ended, to visit me, that thereby I

may both have the delight of seeing you again, and make good that

omission which, by reason of your haste, I must needs now make j

and that in the meanwhile it irk thee not to visit me by letter,

and to ask of me whatever you shall have a mind to, and be sure

that there lives not the man whom I shall content more gladly

than you. Messer Torello could not refrain his tears, and so.




with words few, and broken by his sobs, he answered that 'twas

impossible that the Soldan's generous deeds and chivalrous charactershould ever be forgotten by him, and that without fail he would

do as he bade him, so soon as occasion should serve him. Whercr-

upon Saladin tenderly embraced and kissed him, and with many a

tear bade him adieu, and quitted the chamber. His lords then took

leave of Messer Torello, and followed Saladin into the hall, wherehe had had the bed made ready.

'Twas now late, and the necromancer being intent to hasten

Messer Torello's transit, a physician brought him a potion, and

having first shewn him what he was to give him by way of viaticum,

caused him to drink it j and not long after he fell asleep. In whichstate he was carried by Saladin's command, and laid on the goodly

bed, whereon he set a large and fair and most sumptuous crown,

marking it in such sort that there could be no mistake that it wassent by Saladin to Messer Torello's wife. He next placed onMesser Torello's finger a ring, in which was set a carbuncle of

such brilliance that it shewed as a lighted torch, and of well-nigh

inestimable value. After which he girded on him a sword, the

appointments of which might not readily be appraised. And there-

withal he adorned him in front with a pendant, wherein werepearls, the like of which had never been seen, and not a few other

rare jewels. And, moreover, on either side of him he set twovast basins of gold full of pistoles ; and strings of pearls not a few,

and rings and girdles, and other things, which 'twere tedious to

enumerate, he disposed around him. Which done, he kissed Messer

Torello again, and bade the necromancer speed him on his journey.

Whereupon, forthwith, the bed, with Messer Torello thereon, was

borne away from before Saladin's eyes, and he and his barons

remained conversing thereof.

The bed, as Messer Torello had requested, had already been

deposited in the church of San Piero*in Ciel d'Oro at Pavia, and

Messer Torello, with all the aforesaid jewels and ornaments uponand about him, was lying thereon, and still slept, when, upon the

stroke of matins, the sacristan came into the church, light in hand,

and presently setting eyes on the sumptuous bed, was not only

amazed, but mightily terrified, insomuch that he turned back, and

took to flight. Which the abbot and monks observing with no small




surprise, asked wherefore he fled ; and he told them. Where-

upon :

— Oh, quoth the abbot,**

thou art no longer a child, noryet so new to this church, that thou shouldst so lightly be appalled :

go we now, and see who it is that has given thee this childish fright.

So, with a blaze of torches, the abbot, attended by his monks, entered

the church, and espied this wondrous costly bed whereon the knight

slept, and while, hesitant and fearful, daring not to approach the bed,

they scanned the rare and splendid jewels, it befell that, the efficacy

of the potion being exhausted, Messer Torello awoke and heaved a

great sigh. Whereat the monks and the abbot quaking and crying

out : — Lord, help us one and all took to flight. Messer Torello,

opening his eyes and looking about him, saw, to his no small satisfaction,

that without a doubt he was in the very place where he had craved of

Saladin to be j so up he sate, and taking particular note of the

matters with which he was surrounded, accounted the magnificence

of Saladin to exceed even the measure, great though it was, that he

already knew. However, he still kept quiet, save that, perceiving

the monks in flight, and surmising the reason, he began to call the

abbot by name, bidding him be of good courage, for that he was his

nephew, Torello. Whereat the abbot did but wax more terrified,

for that he deemed Torello had been many a month dead ; but, after

a while, as he heard himself still called, sound judgment got the

better of his fears, and making the sign of the cross, he drew nigh

Torello j who said to him :— Father, what is't you fear ? By

God's grace I live, and hither am come back from overseas. sWhom,for all he had grown a long beard and was dressed in the Saracenic

fashion, the abbot after a while recognized, and now, quite reassured,

took by the hand, saying :— Son, welcome home :

then :— No

cause hast thou to marvel at our fears, he went on, seeing that

there is never a soul in these parts but firmly believes thee to be

dead, insomuch that I may tell thee that Madonna Adalieta, thy wife,

overborne by the entreaties and menaces of her kinsfolk, and against

her will, is provided with another husband, to whom she is this

morning to go, and all is made ready for the nuptials and the

attendant festivities.

Whereupon Messer Torello, being risen from the sumptuous

bed, did the abbot and the monks wondrous cheer, and besought

them, one and all, to tell never a soul of his return, until he had



384 DECAMERON. • [tenth day.

completed something that he had on hand. After which, having

put the costly jewels in safe keeping, he recounted to the abbot all

the story of his adventures to that very hour. The abbot, rejoicing

in his good fortune, joined with him in offering thanks to God.

Messer Torello then asked him who might be his wife's new hus-

band, and the abbot told him. Quoth then Messer Torello :

Before my return be known, I purpose to see how my wife will

comport herself at the nuptials : wherefore, though 'tis not the wontof men of religion to go to such gatherings, I had lief that for love of

me you arranged for us to go thithertogether. The abbot answered

that he would gladly do so, and as soon as 'twas day, he sent wordto the bridegroom that he had thoughts of being present at his

nuptials, accompanied by a friend ; whereto the gentleman madeanswer that he was much gratified. So, at the breakfast hour Messer

Torello, dressed as he was, hied him with the abbot to the bride-

groom's house, as many as saw them gazing on him with wonder,

but none recognizing him, and the abbot giving all to understand

that he was a Saracen sent by the Soldan as ambassador to the Kingof France. Messer Torello was accordingly seated at a table directly

opposite that of his lady, whom he eyed with exceeding great delight,

the more so that he saw that in her face which shewed him that she

was chagrined by the nuptials. She in like manner from time to time

bent her regard on him ; howbeit, what with his long beard, and his

foreign garb, and her firm persuasion that he was dead, she had still

no sort of recollection of him. However, Messer Torello at length

deemed it time to make trial of her, whether she would remember

him ; wherefore he took the ring that the lady had given him on his

departure, and keeping it close in the palm of his hand, he called to

him a page that waited upon her, and said to him : — Tell the

bride from me that 'tis the custom in my country, that, when a

stranger, such as I, eats with a bride, like herself, at her wedding-

feast, she, in token that he is welcome to her board, sends him the

cup from which she herself drinks, full of wine j and when thestranger has drunk his fill, he closes the cup, and the bride drinks

what is left therein.

The page carried the message to the lady, who, being of good

understanding and manners, and supposing him to be some very great

man, by way of shewing that she was gratified by his presence, com-




manded that a gilt cup, that was on the table before her, should be

rinsed, and filled with wine, and borne to the gentleman. Whichbeing done, Messer Torello, having privily conveyed her ring into

his mouth, let it fall (while he drank) into the cup on such wise that

none wist thereof; and leaving but a little wine at the bottom, closed

the cup and returned it to the lady ; who, having taken it, that she

might do full honour to the custom of her guest's country, lifted

the lid, and set the cup to her mouth ; wherc by espying the ring,

she thereon mutely gazed a while, and recognizing it for that whichshe had given Messer Torello on his departure, she steadfastly

regarded the supposed stranger, whom now she also recognized.

Whereupon well-nigh distracted, oversetting the table in front ofher, she exclaimed : — 'Tis my lord, 'tis verily Messer Torello j

**

and rushing to the table at which he sate, giving never a thought to

her apparel, or aught that was on the table, she flung herself uponit ; and reaching forward as far as she could, she threw her arms

about him, and hugged him ; nor, for aught that any said or did,

could she be induced to release his neck, until Messer Torello him-

self bade her forbear a while, for that she would have time enoughto kiss him thereafter. The lady then stood up, and for a while all

was disorder, albeit the feast was yet more gladsome than before by

reason of the recovery of so honourable a knight : then, at Messer

Torello's entreaty, all were silent, while he recounted to them the

story of his adventures from the day of his departure to that hour,

concluding by saying that the gentleman who, deeming him to be

dead, had taken his lady to wife, ought not to be affronted, if he,

being alive, reclaimed her. The bridegroom, albeit he was some-

what crestfallen, made answer in frank and friendly sort, that 'twas

for Messer Torello to do what he liked with his own. The lady

resigned the ring and the crown that her new spouse had given her,

and put on the ring she had taken from the cup, and likewise the

crown sent her by the Soldan ; and so, forth they hied them, and

with fuU nuptial pomp wended their way to Messer Torello's house

and there for a great while they made merry with his late disconso-

late friends and kinsfolk and all the citizens, who accounted his

restoration as little short of a miracle.

Messer Torello, having bestowed part of his rare jewels upon

him who had borne the cost of the wedding-feast, and part on the

VOL. II. c c




ftbbot, and many other folk ; and having by more than one messenger

sent word of his safe home-coming and prosperous estate to Saladin,

acknowledging himself ever his friend and vassal, lived many years

thereafter with his worthy lady, acquitting himself yet more cour-

teously than of yore. Such, then, was the end of the troubles of

Messer Torello and his dear lady, and such the reward of their

cheerful and ready courtesies.

Now some there are that strive to do offices of courtesy, and

have the means, but do them with so ill a grace, that, ere they are

done, they have in effect sold them at a price above their worth :

wherefore, if no reward ensue to them thereof, neither they nor

other folk have cause to marvel.



NOVEL X.

The Marquis of Saluzzo^ overborne by the entreaties ofhis vassals, consents to take a wife, but, being minded

to please himself in the choice of her, takes a husband-

marCs daughter. He has two children by her, both

of whom he makes her believe that he has put to death.

Afterward, feigning to be tired of her, and to have

taken another wife, he turns her out of doors in her

shift, and brings his daughter into the house in guise

of his bride ; but, finding her patient under it all, he

brings her home again, and shews her her children,

now grown up, and honours her, and causes her to be

' honoured, as Marchioness,

Ended the king's long story, with which all seemed to be very

well pleased, quoth Dioneo with a laugh :— The good man that

looked that night to cause the bogey's tail to droop, would scarce have

contributed two pennyworth of all the praise you bestow on Messer

Torello : then, witting that it now only remained for him to tell,

thus he began : —Gentle my ladies, this day, meseems, is dedicate to

Kings and Soldans and folk of the like quality ; wherefore, that I

stray not too far from you, I am minded to tell you somewhat of a

Marquis ; certes, nought magnificent, but a piece of mad folly, albeit

there came good thereof to him in the end. The which I counsel

none to copy, for that great pity 'twas that it turned out well with

him.

There was in olden days a certain Marquis of Saluzzo, Gualtieri

387




by name, a young man, but head of the house, who, having

neither wife nor child, passed his time in nought else but in hawk-ing and hunting, and of taking a wife and begetting children had

no thought ; wherein he should have been accounted very wise :

but his vassals, brooking it ill, did oftentimes entreat him to take

a wife, that he might not die without an heir, and they be left

without a lord ; offering to find him one of such a pattern, and

of such parentage, that he might marry with good hope, and be

Vv'ell content with the sequel. To whom : — My friends, replied

Gualtieri, you enforce me to that which I had resolved never to do,

seeing how hard it is to find a wife, whose ways accord well with

one's own, and how plentiful is the supply of such as run counter

thereto, and how grievous a life he leads who chances upon a lady

that matches ill with him. And to say that you think to know the

daughters by the qualities of their fathers and mothers, and thereby

so you would argue —to provide me with a wife to my liking, is but

folly ; for I wot not how you may penetrate the secrets of their

mothers so as to know their fathers ; and granted that you do knowthem, daughters oftentimes resemble neither of their parents. How-ever, as you are minded to rivet these 'fetters upon me, I am content

that so it be ; and that I may have no cause to reproach any but

myself, should it turn out ill, I am resolved that my wife shall be of

my own choosing ; but of this rest assured, that, no matter whomI choose, if she receive not from you the honour due to a lady, you

shall prove to your great cost, how sorely I resent being thus con-

strained by your importunity to take a wife against my will.

The worthy men replied that they were well content, so only he

would marry without more ado. And Gualtieri, who had long noted

with approval the mien of a poor girl that dwelt on a farm hard by

his house, and found her fair enough, deemed that with her he might

pass a tolerably happy life. Wherefore he sought no further, but

forthwith resolved to marry her ; and having sent for her father, who

was a very poor man, he contracted with him to take her to wife.

Which done, Gualtieri assembled all the friends he had in those parts,

and : — My friends, quoth he, you were and are minded that I

should take' a wife, and rather to comply with your wishes, than for

any desire that I had to marry, I have made up my mind to do so.

You remember the promise you gave me, to wit, that, whomsoever I



TENTH 8T0RV.] DECAMERON. 389

should take, you would pay her the honour due to a lady. Whichpromise I now require you to keep, the time being come when I amto keep mine. I have found hard by here a maiden after mine ownheart, whom I purpose to take to wife, and to bring hither to myhouse in the course of a few days. Wherefore bethink you, howyou may make the nuptial feast splendid, and welcome her with all

honour ; that I may confess myself satisfied with your observance of

your promise, as you will be with my observance of mine. Theworthy men, one and all, aaswered with alacrity that they were well

content, and that, whoever she might be, they would entreat her as

a lady, and pay her all due honour as such. After which, they all

addressed them to make goodly and grand and gladsome celebrationof the event, as did also Gualtieri. He arranged for a wedding most

stately and fair, and bade thereto a goodly number of his friends and

kinsfolk, and great gentlemen, and others, of the neighbourhood j

and therewithal he caused many a fine and costly robe to be cut and

fashioned to the figure of a girl who seemed to him of the like pro-

portions as the girl that he purposed to wed ; and laid in store,

besides, of girdles and rings, with a costly and beautiful crown, and

all the other paraphernalia of a bride.

The day that he had appointed for the wedding being come,

about half tierce he got him to horse with as many as had come to

do him honour, and having made all needful dispositions : — Gentle-

men, quoth he, 'tis time to go bring home the bride. And so

away he rode with his company to the village ; where, being cometo the house of the girl's father, they found her returning from the

spring with a bucket of water, making all the haste she could, that

she might afterwards go with the other women to see Gualtieri's

bride come by. Whom Gualtieri no sooner saw, than he called her

by her name, to wit, Griselda, and asked her where her father was.

To whom she modestly made answer: — My lord, he is in the house.

Whereupon Gualtieri dismounted, and having bidden the rest await

him without, entered the cottage alone ; and meeting her father,

whose name was Giannucolo :— I am come, quoth he, to wed

Griselda, but first of all there are some matters I would learn from

her own lips in thy presence. He then asked her, whether, if he

took her to wife, she would study to comply with his wishes, and be

not wroth, no matter what he might say or do, and be obedient,




with not a few other questions of a like sort : to all which she

answered, ay. Whereupon Gualtieri took her by the hand, led her

forth, and before the eyes of all his company, and as many other

folk as were there, caused her to strip naked, and let bring the

garments that he had had fashioned for her, and had her forthwith

arrayed therein, and upon her unkempt head let set a crown ; and

then, while all wondered : — Gentlemen, quoth he, this is she

whom I purpose to make my wife, so she be minded to have me for

husband. Then, she standing abashed and astonied, he turned to

her, saying : — Griselda, wilt thou have me for thy husband ? Towhom :

— Ay, my lord, answered she. And I will have thee to

wife, said he, and married her before them all. And having set herupon a palfrey, he brought her home with pomp.

The wedding was fair and stately, and had he married a daughter

of the King of France, the feast could not have been more splendid.

It seemed as if, with the change of her garb, the bride had acquired

a new dignity of mind and mien. She was, as we have said, fair of

form and feature ; and therewithal she was now grown so engaging

and gracious and debonair, that she shewed no longer as the shepherdess,

and the daughter of Giannucolo, but as the daughter of some noble

lord, insomuch that she caused as many as had known her before to

marvel. Moreover, she was so obedient and devoted to her husband,

that he deemed himself the happiest and luckiest man in the world.

And likewise so gracious and kindly was she to her husband's vassals,

that there was none of them but loved her more dearly than himself,

and was zealous to do her honour, and prayed for her welfare and

prosperity and aggrandisement, and instead of, as erstwhile, saying

that Gualtieri had done foolishly to take her to wife, now averred

that he had not his like in the world for wisdom and discernment,

for that, save to him, her noble qualities would ever have remained

hidden under her sorry apparel and the garb of the peasant girl.

And in short she so comported herself as in no long time to bring it

to pass that, not only in the marquisate, but far and wide besides, her

virtues and her admirable conversation were matter of common talk,

and, if aught had been said to the disadvantage of her husband, when

he married her, the judgment was now altogether to the contrary

effect.

She had not been 'long with Gualtieri before she conceived ; and




in due time she was delivered of a girl; whereat Gualtieri made great

cheer. But, soon after, a strange humour took possession of him,

to wit, to put her patience to the proo f by prolonged and intolerable

hard usage j wherefore he began by afflicting her with his gibes,

putting on a vexed air, and telling her that his vassals were most

sorely dissatisfied with her by reason of her base condition, and all

the more so since they saw that she was a mother, and that they

did nought but most ruefully murmur at the birth of a daughter.

Whereto Griselda, without the least change of countenance or sign

of discomposure, made answer :— My lord, do with me as thou

mayst deem best for thine own honour and comfort, for well I wot

that I am of less account than th^, and unworthy of this honourableestate to which of thy courtesy thou hast advanced me. By which

answer Gualtieri was well pleased, witting that she was in no degree

puffed up with pride by his, or any other's, honourable entreatment

of her. A while afterwards, having in general terms given his wife

to understand that the vassals could not endure her daughter, he sent

her a message by a servant. So the servant came, and :— Madam,

quoth he with a most dolorous mien, so I value my life, I must

needs do my lord's bidding. He has bidden me take your daughter

and . . . He said no more, but the lady by what she heard, and

read in his face, and remembered of her husband's words, understood

that he was bidden to put the child to death. Whereupon she

presently took the child from the cradle, and having kissed and blessed

her, albeit she was very sore at heart, she changed not countenance,

but placed it in the servant's arms, saying : — See that thou leave

nought undone that my lord and thine has charged thee to do, but

leave her not so that the beasts and the birds devour her, unless he

have so bidden thee. So the servant took the child, and told

Gualtieri what the lady had said ; and Gualtieri, marvelling at her

constancy, sent him with the child to Bologna, to one of his kins-

women, whom he besought to rear and educate the child with all

care, but never to let it be known whose child she was.

Soon after it befell that the lady again conceived, and in due

time was delivered of a son, whereat Gualtieri was overjoyed. But,

not content with what he had done, he now even more poignantly

afflicted the lady ; and one day with a ruffled mien : — Wife,

quoth he, ** since thou gavest birth to this boy, I may on no wise live




in peace with my vassals, so bitterly do they reproach me that a

grandson of Giannucolo is to succeed me as their lord ; and therefore Ifear that, so I be not minded to be sent a packing hence, I must even

do herein as I did before, and in the end put thee aw^ay, and take

another v^rife. The lady heard him patiently, and answered only :— My lord, studyhow thou mayst content thee and best please thyself,

and waste no thought upon me, for there is nought I desire save in so

far as I know that 'tis thy pleasure. Not many days after, Gualtieri,

in like manner as he had sent for the daughter, sent for the son, and

having made a shew of putting him to death, provided for his, as for

the girl's, nurture at Bologna. Whereat the lady shewed no morediscomposure of countenance or%speech than at the loss of her

daughter: which Gualtieri found passing strange, and inly affirmed

that there was never another woman in the world that would have

so done. And but that he had marked that she was most tenderly

affectionate towards her children, while 'twas well pleasing to him, he

had supposed that she was tired of them, whereas he knew that 'twas

of her discretion that she so did. His vassals, who believed that he had

put the children to death, held him mightily to blame for his cruelty,

and felt the utmost compassion for the lady. She, however, said

never au2:ht to the ladies that condoled with her on the death of her

children, but that the pleasure of him that had begotten them was

her pleasure likewise.

Years not a few had passed since the girl's birth, when Gualtieri

at length deemed t he time come to put his wife's patience to the

final proof. Accordingly, in the presence of a great company of his

vassals he declared that on no wise might he longer brook to have

Griselda to wife, that he confessed that in taking her he had done a

sorry thing and the act of a stripling, and that he therefore meant to

do what he could to procure the Pope's dispensation to put Griselda

away, and take another wife : for which cause being much upbraided

by many worthy men, he made no other answer but only that needs

must it so be. Whereof the lady being apprised, and now deemingthat she must look to go back to her father's house, and perchance

tend the sheep, as she had aforetime, and see him, to whom she

was utterly devoted, engrossed by another woman, did inly bewail

herself right sorely : but still with the same composed mien with

which she had borne Fortune's former buffets, she set herself to endure




this last outrage. Nor was it long before Gualticri by counterfeit

letters, which he caused to be sent to him from Rome, made his

vassals believe that the Pope had thereby given him a dispensation to

put Griselda away, and take another wife. Wherefore, having caused

her to be brought before him, he said to her in the presence of not a

few :— Wife, by license granted me by the Pope, I am now free

to put thee away, and take another wife ; and, for that my forbears

have always been great gentlemen and lords of these parts, whereas

thine have ever been husbandmen, I purpose that thou go back

to Giannucolo's house with the dowry that thou broughtest me ;

whereupon I shall bring home a lady that I have found, and who is

meet to be my wife.

'Twas not without travail most grievous that the lady, as she

heard this announcement, got the better of her woman's nature, and

suppressing her tears, made answer :— My lord, I ever knew that

my low degree was on no wise congruous with your nobility, and

acknowledged that the rank I had with you was of your and God's

bestowal, nor did I ever make as if it were mine by gift, or so esteem

it, but still accounted it as a loan. 'Tis your pleasure to recall it,

and therefore it should be, and is, my pleasure to render it up to you.

So, here is your ring, with which you espoused me ; take it back.

You bid me take with me the dowry that I brought you ; which to

do will require neither paymaster on your part nor purse nor pack-

horse on mine j for I am not unmindful that naked was I when you

first had me. And if you deem it seemly that that body in which I

have borne children, by you begotten, be beheld of all, naked will I

depart ; but yet, I pray you, be pleased, in guerdon of the virginity

that I brought you and take not away, to suffer me to bear hence

upon my back a single shift —I crave no more —besides my dowry.

There was nought of which Gualtieri was so fain as to weep ; but

yet, setting his face as a flint, he made answer :— I allow thee a

shift to thy back ; so get thee hence. All that stood by besought

him to give her a robe, that she, who had been his wife for thirteen

years and more, might not be seen to quit his house in so sorry and

shameful a plight, having nought on her but a shift. But their

entreaties went for nothing : the lady in her shift, and barefoot and

bareheaded, having bade them adieu, departed the house, and went

back to her father amid the tears and lamentations of all that saw

\



3^4 DECAMERON. [tenth day.

her. Giannucolo, who had ever deemed it a thing incredible

that Gualtieri should keep his daughter to wife, and had lookedfor this to happen every day, and had kept the clothes that she

had put off on the morning that Gualtieri had wedded her, nowbrought them to her ; and she, having resumed them, applied herself

to the petty drudgery of her father's house, as she had been wont,

enduring with fortitude this cruel visitation of adverse Fortune.

Now no sooner had Gualtieri dismissed Griselda, than he gave his

vassals to understand that he had taken to wife a daughter of one of

the Counts of Panago. He accordingly made great preparations as

for the nuptials, during which he sent for Griselda. To whom,

being come, quoth he:—

I am bringing hither my newbride,

andin this her first home-coming I purpose to shew her honour ; and

thou knowest that women I have none in the house that knowhow to set chambers in due order, or attend to the many other

matters that so joyful an event .requires ; wherefore do thOu, that

understandest these things better than another, see to all that needs

be done, and bid hither such ladies as thou mayst see fit, and

receive them, as if thou wert the lady of the house, and then,

when the nuptials are ended, thou mayst go back to thy cottage,

Albeit each of these words pierced Griselda's heart like a knife,

for that, in resigning her good fortune, she had not been able to

renounce the love she bore Gualtieri, nevertheless : — My lord, she

made answer, I am ready and prompt to do your pleasure. Andso, clad in her sorry garments of coarse romagnole, she entered the

house, which, but a little before, she had quitted in her shift, and

addressed her to sweep the chambers, and arrange arras and cushions

in the halls, and make ready the kitchen, and set her hand to every-

thing, as if she had been a paltry serving-wench : nor did she rest

until she had brought all into such meet and seemly trim as the

occasion demanded. This done, she invited in Gualtieri's name all

the ladies of those parts to be present at his nuptials, and awaited the

event. The day being come, still wearing her sorry weeds, but in

heart and soul and mien the lady, she received the ladies as they

came, and gave each a gladsome greeting.

Now Gualtieri, as we said, had caused his children to be carefully

nurtured and brought up by a kinswoman of his at Bologna, which

kinswoman was married into the family of the Counts of Panago ;




and, the girl being now twelve years old, and the loveliest creature

that ever was seen, and the boy being about six years old, he had

sent word to his kinswoman's husband at Bologna, praying him to

be pleased to come with this girl and boy of his to Saluzzo, and to

see that he brought a goodly and honourable company with him,

and to give all to understand that he brought the girl to him to

wife, and on no wise to disclose to any, who she really was. Thegentleman did as the Marquis bade him, and within a few days of

his setting forth arrived at Saluzzo about brealcfast-time with the

girl, and her brother, and a noble company, and found all the folic of

those parts, and much people besides, gathered there in expectation

of Gualtieri's new bride. Who, being received by the ladies, wasno sooner come into the hall, where the tables were set, than Griselda

advanced to meet her, saying with hearty cheer : — Welcome, ray

lady. So the ladies, who had with much instance, but in vain, be-

sought Gualtieri, either to let Griselda keep in another room, or at any

rate to furnish her with one of the robes that had been hers, that she

might not present herself in such a sorry guise before the strangers,

sate down to table ; and the service being begun, the eyes of all were

set on the girl, and every one said that Gualtieri had made a good

exchange, and Griselda joined with the rest in greatly commendingher, and also her little brother. And now Gualtieri, sated at last

with all that he had seen of his wife's patience, marking that this

new and strange turn made not the least alteration in her demeanour,

and being well assured that 'twas not due to apathy, for he knew her

to be of excellent understanding, deemed it time to relieve her

of the suffering which he judged her to dissemble under a resolute

front ; and so, having called her to him in presence of them all, he

said with a smile: — And what thinkst thou of our bride?

My lord, replied Griselda, I think mighty well of her ; and if

she be but as discreet as she is fair —and so I deem her —I make no

doubt but you may reckon to lead with her a life of incomparable

felicity j but with all earnestness I entreat you, that you spare her

those tribulations which you did once inflict upon another that was

yours, for I* scarce think she would be able to bear them, as well

because she is younger, as for that she has been delicately nurtured,

whereas that other had known no respite of hardship since she was

but a little child. Marking that she made no doubt but that the



396 ^- DECAMERON. [tenth day.

girl was to be his wife, and yet spoke never a whit the less sweetly,

Gualtieri caused her to sit down beside him, and :

— Griselda,

said he, 'tis now time that thou see the reward of thy long patience,

and that those, who have deemed me cruel and unjust and insensate,

should know that what I did was done of purpose aforethought, for

that I was minded to give both thee and them a lesson, that thou

mightst learn to be a wife, and they in like manner might learn howto take and keep a wife, and that I niight beget me perpetual peace

with thee for the rest of my life ; whereof being in great fear, whenI came to take a wife, lest I should be disappointed, I therefore, to

put the matter to the proof, did, and how sorely thgu knowest, harass

andafflict thee. And since I never knew thee either by deed or by

word to deviate from my will, I now, deeming myself to have of

thee that assurance of happiness which I desired, am minded to

restore to thee at once all that, step by step, I took from thee, and

by extremity of joy to compensate the tribulations that I inflicted

on thee. Receive, then, this girl, whom thou supposest to be mybride, and her brother, with glad heart, as thy children and mine.

These are they, whom by thee and many another it has long been

supposed that I did ruthlessly to death, and I am thy husband, that

loves thee more dearly than aught else, deeming that other there is

none that has the like good cause to be well content with his wife.

Which said, he embraced and kissed her; and then, while she

wept for joy, they rose and hied them there where sate the daughter,

all astonied to hear the news, whom, as also her brother, they ten-

derly embraced, and explained to them, and many others that stood

by, the whole mystery. Whereat the ladies, transported with de-

light, rose from table and betook them with Griselda to a chamber,

and, with better omen, divested her of her sorry garb, and arrayed

her in one of her own robes of state j and so, in guise of a lady

(howbeit in her rags she had shewed as no less) they led her back

into the hall. Wondrous was the cheer which there they made

with the children ; and, all overjoyed at the event, they revelled andmade merry amain, and prolonged the festivities for several days

and very discreet they pronounced Gualtieri, albeit they censured as

intolerably harsh the probation to which he had subjected Griselda,

and most discreet beyond all compare they accounted Griselda.

Some days after, the Count of Panago returned to Bologna, and




Gualtieri took Giantuicolo from his husbandry, and established him

in honour as his father-in-law, wherein to his great solace he lived

for the rest of his days. Gualtieri himself, having mated his daughter

with a husband of high degree, lived long and happily thereafter with

Griselda, to whom he ever paid all honour.

Now what shall we say in this case but that even into the cots of

the poor the heavens let fall at times spirits divine, as into the palaces

of kings souls that are fitter to tend hogs than to exercise lordship over

men ? Who but Griselda had been able, with a countenance not only

tearless, but cheerful, to endure the hard and unheard-of trials to which

Gualtieri subjected her ? Who perhaps might have deemed himself

to have made no bad investment, had he chanced upon one, who,having been turned out of his house in her shift, had found means so

to dust the pelisse of another as to get herself thereby a fine robe.

* So ended Dioneo's story, whereof the ladies, diversely inclining,

one to censure where another found matter for commendation, had

discoursed not a little, when the king, having glanced at the sky,

and marked that the sun was now low, insomuch that 'twas nigh the

vesper hour, still keeping his seat, thus began :— Exquisite my

ladies, as, methinks, you wot, 'tis not only in minding them of

the past and apprehending the present that the wit of mortals

consists ; but by one means or the other to be able to foresee the

future is by the sages accounted the height of wisdom. Now,to-morrow, as you know, 'twill be fifteen days since, in quest of

recreation and for the conservation of our health and life, we, shun-

ning the dismal and dolorous and afflicting spectacles that have ceased

not in our city since this season of pestilence began, took our de-

parture from Florence. Wherein, to my thinking, we have done

nought that was not seemly ; for, if I have duly used my powers ot

observation, albeit some gay stories, and of a kind to stimulate con-

cupiscence, have here been told, and we have daily known no lack

of dainty dishes and good wine, nor yet of music and song, things,

one and all, apt to incite weak minds to that which is not seemly,

neither on your part, nor on ours, have I marked deed or word, or

aught of any kind, that called for reprehension ; but, by what I have

seen and heard, seemliness and the sweet intimacy of brothers and

sisters have ever reigned among us. Which, assuredly, for the honour

and advantage which you and I have had tjiereof, is most grateful to




me. Wherefore, lest too long continuance in this way of life might

beget some occasion of weariness, and that no man may be able to

misconstrue our too long abidance here, and as we have all of us had

our day's share of the honour which still remains in me, I should

deem it meet, so you be of like mind, that we now go back whence

we came : and that the rather that our company, the bruit whereof

has already reached divers others that are in our neighbourhood, might

be so increased that all our pleasure would be destroyed. And so, if

my counsel meet with your approval, I will keep the crown I have

received of you until our departure, which, I purpose, shall be to-

morrow morning. Should you decide otherwise, I have already

determined whom to crown for the ensuing day.

Much debate ensued among the ladies and young men ; but in

the end they approved the king's proposal as expedient and seemly j

and resolved to do even as he had said. The king therefore

summoned the seneschal ; and having conferred with him of the

order he was to observe on the morrow, he dismissed the company

until supper-time. So, the king being risen, the ladies and the rest

likewise rose, and betook them, as they were wont, to their several

diversions. Supper-time being come, they supped with exceeding

great delight. Which done, they addressed them to song and music

and dancing ; and, while Lauretta was leading a dance, the king bade

Fiammetta give them a song ; whereupon Fiammetta right debonairly

sang on this wise :

So came but Love, and brought no jealousy,

So blithe, I wot, as I,

Dame were there none, be she whoe'er she be.

If youth's fresh, lusty pride

May lady of her lover well content,

Or valour's just renown,

Hardihood, prowess tried,

Wit, noble mien, discourse most excellent,

And of all grace the crown

;

That she am I, who, fain for love to swoun,

There where my hope doth lie

These several virtues all conjoined do see.



TiNTH STORY.] DECAMERON, 399

But, for that I leu wise

Than me no whit do other damei diicern,

Trembling with sore dismay,

I still the worst surmise,

Deeming their hearts with the same flame to burn

That of mine maketh prey

Wherefore of him that is my hope's one stay

Disconsolate I sigh,

Yea mightily, and daily do me dree.

If but my lord as true

As worthy to be loved I might approve,

1 were not jealous thenBut, for that charmer new

Doth all too often gallant lure to love,

Forsworn I hold all men,

And sick at heart I am, of death full fain

Nor lady doth him eye,

But I do quake, lest she him wrest from mc.

*Fore God, then, let each she

List to my prayer, nor e'er in my despite

Such grievous wrong essay j

For should there any be

That by or speech or mien's allurements light

Of him to rob me mayStudy or plot, I, witting, shall find way.

My beauty it aby

To cause her sore lament such frencsie.

As sewn as Fiammetta had ended her song, Dioneo, who was

beside her, said with a laugh: — Madam, 'twould be a great courtesy

on your part to do all ladies to wit, who he is, that he be not stolen

from you in ignorance, seeing that you threaten such dire resent-

ment. Several other songs followed ; and it being then nigh uponmidnight, all, as the king was pleased to order, betook them to rest.

With the first light of the new day they rose, and, the seneschal

having already conveyed thence all their chattels, they, following the

lead of their discreet king, hied them back to Florence j and in Santa

Maria Novella, whence they had set forth, the three young men




took leave of the seven ladies, and departed to find other diversions

elsevv^here, while the ladies in due time repaired to their homes.

THE AUTHOR'S EPILOGUE.

Most noble damsels, for whose solace I addressed me to this long

and toilsome task, meseems that, aided by the Divine grace, the

bestowal whereof I impute to the efficacy, of your pious prayers, and

in no wise to merits of mine, I have now brought this work to thefull and perfect consummation which in the outset thereof I promised

you. Wherefore, it but remains for me to render, first to God, and

then to you, my thanks, and so to give a rest to my pen and weary

hand. But this I purpose not to allow them, until, briefly, as to

questions tacitly mooted —for well assured I am that these stories

have no especial privilege above any others, nay, I forget not that at

the beginning of the Fourth Day I have made the same plain —shall have answered certain trifling objections that one of you, maybe,

or some other, might advance. Peradventure, then, some of you will

be found to say that I have used excessive license in the writing

of these stories, in that I have caused ladies at times to tell, and

oftentimes to list, matters that, whether to tell or to list, do not well

beseem virtuous women. The which I deny, for that there is none

of these stories so unseemly, but that it may without offence be told

by any one, if but seemly words be used ; which rule, methinks, has

here been very well observed. But assume we that 'tis even so (for

with you I am not minded to engage in argument, witting that you

would vanquish me), then, I say that for answer why I have so done,

reasons many come very readily to hand. In the first place, if aught

of the kind in any of these stories there be, 'twas but such as was

demanded by the character of the stories, which let but any person

of sound judgment scan with the eye of reason, and 'twill be abun-

dantly manifest that, unless I had been minded to deform them, they

could not have been otherwise recounted. And if, perchance, they

do, after all, contain here and there a trifling indiscretion of speech,

such as might ill sort with one of your precious prudes, who weigh



EPILOGUE.] DECAMERON. 401

words rather than deeds, and are more concerned to appear, than to

be, good, I say that so to write was as permissible to me, as 'tis to

men and women at large in their converse to make use of such terms

as hole^ and />/«, and mortar^ and pestle^ and sausage^ and polony^ and

plenty more besides of a like sort. And therewithal privilege noless should be allowed to my pen than to the pencil of the painter,

who without incurring any, or at least any just, censure, not only

will depict St. Michael smiting the serpent, or St. George the

dragon, with sword or lance at his discretion ; but male he paints us

Christ, and female Eve, and His feet that for the salvation of our

race willed to die upon the cross he fastens thereto, now with one,

now with two nails.

Moreover, 'tis patent to all that 'twas not in the Church, of

matters whereto pertaining 'tis meet we speak with all purity of

heart and scemliness of phrase, albeit among her histories there are

to be found not a few that will ill compare with my writings ; nor

yet in the schools of the philosophers, where, as much as anywhere,

seemliness is demanded, nor in any place where clergy or philo-

sophers congregate, but in gardens, in pleasaunces, and among folk,

young indeed, but not so young as to be seducible by stories, and at

a time when, if so one might save one's life, the most sedate might

without disgrace walk abroad with his breeches for headgear, that

these stories were told. Which stories, such as they are, may, like

all things else, be baneful or profitable according to the quality

of the hearer. Who knows not that wine is, as Cinciglione and

Scolaio^ and many another aver, an excellent thing for the living

creature, and yet noxious to the fevered patient ? Are we, for the

mischief it does to the fever-stricken, to say that 'tis a bad thing ?

Who knows not that fire is most serviceable, nay, necessary, to

mortals ? Are we to say that, because it burns houses and villages

and cities, it is a bad thing ? Arms, in like manner, are the safe-

guard of those that desire to live in peace, and also by them are men

not seldom maliciously slain, albeit the malice is not in them, but in

those that use them for a malicious purpose. Corrupt mind did never

yet understand any word in a wholesome sense ; and as such a mind

has no profit of seemly words, so such as are scarce seemly may as

^ Noted topers of the day.

VOL. II. D D




little avail to contaminate a healthy mind as mud the radiance of

the sun, or the deformities of earth the splendours of the heavens.What books, what; words, what letters, are more sacred, more excel-

lent, more venerable, than those of Holy Writ ? And yet there

have been not a few that, perversely construing them, have brought

themselves and others to perdition. Everything is in itself good for

somewhat, and being put to a bad purpose, may work manifold mis-

chief. And so, I say, it is with my stories. If any man shall be

minded to draw from them matters of evil tendency or consequence,

they will not gainsay him, if, perchance, such matters there be in

them, nor will such matters fail to be found in them, if they be

wrested and distorted. Nor, if any shall seek profit and reward in

them, will they deny him the same ; and censured or accounted as

less than profitable and seemly they can never be, if the times or the

persons when and by whom they are read be such as when they

were recounted. If any lady must needs say paternosters or makecakes or tarts for her holy father, let her leave them alone ; there is

none after whom they will run a begging to be read : howbeit, there

are little matters that even the beguines tell, ay, and do, now and

again.

In like manner there will be some who will say that there are

stories here which 'twere better far had been omitted. Granted j

but 'twas neither in my power, nor did it behove me, to write any

but such stories as were narrated ; wherefore, 'twas for those by

whom they were told to have a care that they were proper j in

which case they would have been no less so as I wrote them. But,

assuming that I not only wrote but invented the stories, as I did not,

I say that I should take no shame to myself that they were not all

proper ; seeing that artist there is none to be found, save God, that

does all things well and perfectly. And Charlemagne, albeit he

created the Paladins, wist not how to make them in such numbers

as to form an army of them alone. It must needs be that in the

multitude of things there be found diversities of quality. No field

was ever so well tilled but that here and there nettle, or thistle, or

brier would be found in it amid the goodlier growths. Whereto I

may add that, having to address me to young and unlearned ladies,

as you for the most part are, I should have done foolishly, had I

gone about searching and swinking to find matters very exquisite.




say that I have an evil tongue and venomous, because here and there

I tell the truth about the friars ? Now for them that so say there

is forgiveness, for that 'tis not to be believed but that they have just

cause ; seeing that the friars are good folk, and eschew hardship for

the love of God, and grind intermittently, and never blab ; and, were

they not all a trifle malodorous, intercourse with them would be

much more agreeable. Nevertheless, I acknowledge that the things

of this world have no stability, but are ever undergoing change ; and

this may have befallen my tongue, albeit, no great while ago, one of

my fair neighbours —for in what pertains to myself I trust not myown judgment, but forgo it to the best of my power —told me 'twas

the goodliest and sweetest tongue in the world ; and in sooth, whenthis occurred, few of the said stories were yet to write ; nor, for that

those who so tax me do it despitefuUy, am I minded to vouchsafe

them any further answer.

So, then, be every lady at liberty to say and believe whatever she

may think fit : but 'tis now time for me to bring these remarks to a

close, with humble thanks to Him, by whose help and guidance I,

after so long travail, have been brought to the desired goal. Andmay you, sweet my ladies, rest ever in His grace and peace ; and

be not unmindful of me, if, peradventure, any of you may, in any

measure, have been profited by reading these stories.

Endeth here the tenth and last day of the book called

Decameron^ otherwise Prince Gale otto.

THE END.

Printed in Great Brt ia in by R. Clay & Sous, Ltd., London aud Bungay.

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